


The Shopgirl and the Superstar

by Caedmon



Series: Books, Coffee, and Rock-n-Roll [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Rock star, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-07-03 07:36:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 97,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15814374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caedmon/pseuds/Caedmon
Summary: Ian Docherty is a world-famous musician known around the globe as the Doctor. He’s been selling out arenas for over two decades - but he hasn’t had a hit in a few years.Rose Tyler inherited Bad Wolf Books upon her father’s death a few weeks ago. She’s in over her head, doing her best to learn the ropes.Sparks fly when these two people with very different lives meet. But could they be the right kind of sparks?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and welcome to my new multi-chapter fic!
> 
> Every fic has an origin story, an 'aha' moment where the writer becomes inspired and the story comes out. With nearly everything I've written, I've been able to recall that moment. However, I started writing this fic eighteen months ago and most of the inspiration for it has been lost to time and my Swiss cheese memory. I know that there were conversations with chiaroscuroverse about Twelve as a rock god and the need for that being represented in fic, and I know that there was a prompt on [timepetalscollective](http://timepetalscollective.tumblr.com/) about Jack as a coffee shop owner who plays matchmaker between two customers. Beyond that, I simply don't remember. But I'm grateful for whatever it was!
> 
> As I mentioned, this fic was started in the spring of 2017, then put on the back burner while I worked on [What We're Made Of](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11890998/chapters/26858088) with RishiDiams. It always percolated, though, at the back of my mind, and I'm pleased to be able to present it now. 
> 
> This will be the first story in a series titled "Books, Coffee, and Rock-n-Roll", and it absolutely _would not_ have happened without the support and love of Rose--Nebula and RishiDiams. They have served as betas, hand-holders, and my rock as I wrote this, and I thank them both profusely. The mistakes, however, are all mine. 
> 
> The first two chapters will go up today, and then there will be two chapters a week, on Mondays and Thursdays, until it's finished. 
> 
> Doctor Who is property of the BBC. I'm just playing with Auntie Beeb's toys. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are the life's blood of the muse and help me to be a better writer. Thank you for them!
> 
> Cover art is by the incomparable Rose--Nebula.  
> 
> 
> And now I'll shut up and get on to the story. Thank you for reading!!

2 March 2016

Rose Tyler blew out her cheeks and dislodged the lock of hair that had fallen over her eyes. It didn’t stay dislodged, though, and bounced right back to the place it had been. She raised her hand and absently pushed the errant strands back, then reached down to turn the page of the book in her lap with much more care than she’d shown with her hair. 

She’d taken up a position behind the bookshop’s counter with her feet propped by the register, near the front of the store she now owned as of three weeks ago. Unfortunately, she’d been spending her time working as a graphic designer for the last five years and hadn’t paid much attention when her dad tried to show her how the shop ran, so she was at a loss now that it was hers. She had to learn what to do and how to do it, and she had to learn it quickly. There wasn’t room for error, or her dad’s shop might go under. She couldn’t allow that to happen; it was his legacy, and a tremendous gift from him to her.

So she read books about overhead and cash flow and payroll and all of the other things she needed to know right away. She read while she was at work, behind the counter of the bookshop. She read at dinner; she read in bed. Her dad was worth the hours upon hours she was spending with her nose in books. 

Her focus on this day was so complete that she didn’t hear Donna calling her name until the other woman had to shout. Rose jumped, the book falling out of her lap. She dropped her legs and laid her hand on her chest, covering her racing heart. 

“You scared me!” she accused, her breathing a little fast. 

“Sorry, so sorry,” Donna apologized without much sincerity. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s alright. I was just engrossed, I guess.”

She bent to pick up the dropped book, and Donna eyed it as she raised it. 

“ _Running a Small Business: a Guide for Complete Morons_. Oh, Rose…”

“Don’t you ‘oh, Rose’ me,” she said, holding her hand up in a warding-off gesture. “You and I both know I need the help. Dad didn’t exactly leave me a trail of breadcrumbs to his success or anything.”

The redheaded woman snorted. “Couldn’t have done. He probably wouldn’t have been able to do it all again if he’d wanted to, bless. Blind luck was his best friend in this business.”

Rose felt the familiar prickle at the backs of her eyes that came with every mention of her recently-departed father. Thank God it was getting less insistent every time. She was sick of crying. 

“You’re right, he probably wouldn’t. Which makes it even more vital that I gather all the knowledge I can so I know what I’m doing.”

Donna gave her a look that was pitying but understanding, and Rose tried not to be annoyed. 

“You’re going to be brilliant, Rose. I’m sure you’re a natural.”

“It’ll just take some time to get into the hang of everything,” came a familiar voice from behind her, and Rose darted her head around to see Jack Harkness striding through the wide archway between her bookshop and his coffee shop. He came to a stop a couple of feet from Rose, just beyond the end of the counter, and dried his hands off on the tea towel he always seemed to be carrying. His smile for the two women was gentle and curious. 

“What brings you over here, then?” Donna asked, grinning a little and crossing her arms over the book she was carrying, cocking one hip. Rose was endlessly amused by the way Donna flirted with Jack, even though Donna knew perfectly well that he and Ianto were a long-term couple. It didn’t seem to matter to the redhead. Nor did it seem to matter to Jack, who flirted back more often than not.

“Just wanted to say ‘hi’,” he drawled in his American accent, “see what you gorgeous ladies were up to. Sounded like you were talking about keeping up the shop.”

The bell over the door jingled, catching their attention. A woman stepped into the shop, pushing sunglasses onto the top of her hair as she came in out of the sun. Rose made a move to go to her, but Donna laid a hand on her arm, stopping her. 

“I’ll go. You talk to Jack.”

She bit her lip for just a second in indecision. She needed more practice working with customers, but… 

Jack put his arm around her. “Let Donna get this one, Rosie,” he suggested, and Rose nodded. 

Donna went off to greet the customer, and Rose watched the interaction between the two women with detached interest. Once the customer was following Donna back across the store into the languages section, Jack squeezed her shoulder to get her attention. 

“Yeah?” she asked without looking. 

“What’s going on, Rosie?”

She still didn’t look at him, just pursed her lips and shook her head slowly, staring at nothing. Jack would understand, at least he would do his best to, but still... how did she go about explaining her thoughts and feelings when they were all awhirl?

“It’s just all a bit much, you know?”

“Of course it is. Anyone else, I’d be amazed they were still standing. But you’re Rose Tyler. There’s nothing you can’t do.”

She blinked back tears and huffed a laugh. “I don’t think that’s quite true, Jack, although I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

He gave her another supportive squeeze, then let go of her and turned so that he was leaning back against the counter next to the till. “Tell me about it.”

“It’s just…” she started, pausing to gather her tumultuous thoughts. Tears threatened but she blinked them back, refusing to give in. “None of this was supposed to happen.”

“You mean about your dad?”

“Any of it. I’m only twenty-six - although I suppose there are loads of people who start businesses at my age. Still… I had a job and a flat. My life seemed to be set on a course, you know? Even if it wasn’t the most glamorous course and I wasn’t living my dream. But then Dad got hit by that stupid car…”

Her eyes started to burn, and she couldn’t help it. She looked away from Jack to try and hide the tears, but he wasn’t fooled. He pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly, making her feel safe. She accepted the embrace as the comfort it was and allowed the tears to spill. Jack just swayed her and let her cry, for which she was grateful. 

“It’s okay, hon,” he told her. “Your entire world has been turned upside down. Nobody expects you to know what you’re doing right now. It’s only been three weeks.” 

“ _I_ expect me to know what I’m doing. I should have spent those Saturdays with Dad the way he wanted. If I had, I’d have been able to jump right in running the shop!” Regret flooded her… all that time she’d missed with her father - all those years she’d refused to see him when she was a young teenager… Tears formed again, wetting Jack’s shoulder. “I should have spent more time with him, Jack.”

“Your dad understood completely why you weren’t hanging around all the time. You’re young, you have a life. Boyfriends, stuff like that.” Rose scoffed at the word ‘boyfriends’ - she hadn’t had many of those to speak of and hadn’t dated anyone at all in ages - but Jack ignored her. “Your relationship with your dad wasn’t always the smoothest, either, but he understood that, too.”

“Still --” she started to protest, but Jack pulled her back, holding her by the shoulders. 

“I never want you to think that your dad was upset with you or disappointed in you - anything like that. He loved you and was _extremely_ proud of you. Bad Wolf Books was his gift to you. I think he wanted to make up for not being there when you were younger.”

“He didn’t have to make up for that,” she mumbled. When her dad opened the shop while she was a teenager, she’d have thought differently. But now, with the benefit of adulthood, she understood things a bit better.

“He wanted to,” Jack insisted. “And as far as running it… I’ve known you for ten years, Rose Tyler. You’re one of the most clever people I’ve ever known. Once you get the hang of it, you’re going to run this bookshop like you’ve been doing it for years. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if you do a better job than Pete did, and he wasn’t doing so bad at all. It was a smart choice, leaving it to you. You’ll be brilliant. And if you have any questions, you know that Donna or I will help you. Ianto, too.”

“Thank you, Jack,” she said, hugging him again. She was crying a little, but they weren’t exactly sad tears this time.

“You’re welcome. Now. How are you settling in upstairs?”

“Okay. It doesn’t feel like my home yet, but I think that’ll be better once all the furniture makes it over from my flat and I unpack the rest of my stuff.”

“What about your dad’s flat?”

She shrugged, not wanting to think about it. “It’s there. I haven’t done much. Just leaving it as it is for now.”

“If you need any help…”

“I know.”

“Whenever you want to get it cleaned out so someone can move in, just let me know.”

“I will. I know I need to. But to be honest, I’m not that wild about becoming a landlord. Just… give me a couple days. We’ll get started this week.”

“That sounds good,” Jack grinned. “Feel better?” 

“Yeah. I think so. Might have to do this again, though.”

“As many times as you need, hon. Now, go back to reading your books if that’ll make you feel more secure about this. But you’re gonna knock this out of the park, Rosie.”

She smiled at the nickname Jack had given her when she was sixteen and they met for the first time. Jack gave her an answering smile - he really was gorgeous - then stood up and clapped his hands once. “Well! I’m off to pester Ianto. Sometimes, if I’m especially obnoxious, he’ll bribe me with sex to leave him alone. Wish me luck, eh?”

Rose giggled. “Good luck with that.”

Jack gave a wave and flounced off, back to his side of the building. She watched him go, still smiling, then sank back into the tall chair beside the register. She didn’t pick up her book, though. 

Her life as she’d known it was over. She had responsibilities now - not just to herself, but to others. Donna was depending on her, and so were Jack and Ianto, in a way. It was time to grow up and shoulder that burden, time to turn over a new leaf and see what was underneath. She wasn’t excited to see what lay ahead, not really. She’d been perfectly content with the life she’d been leading and the path she’d been on. Still, this was her lot in life now and she’d deal with it. Rose had always been the adventurous sort, and with just a little application of imagination, she could see this situation as an adventure. A challenge to be conquered. 

She could do this, she decided for the upteenth time. It wouldn’t be easy, but she’d never had it easy. Besides, where was the fun in having it _easy_? She didn’t need it to be _easy_. She just needed it to be _possible_. And running this bookshop successfully was entirely possible.

_Right,_ she said to herself, picking the book back up with renewed determination and settling back into the chair. _Let’s do this._

~*~O~*~

Ian Docherty, known publicly as the Doctor, pushed open the door to his flat and propped it with his foot, his hands being full of his duffel bag, his guitar, and his keys. Once he was inside, he kicked the door shut and dragged his load into the lounge to drop it - at least for a little while.

It had taken a week or so longer in Glasgow than he’d expected - but delays like that were not unusual. The bands he’d been working with were good - he’d always liked both of them and certainly didn’t mind producing for them - but scheduling the recording of two albums back-to-back with no downtime between had been a bit more than he’d bargained for. He’d been more than ready to get the fuck back to London and his semi-anonymous life by the time all was said and done. It was easy to be overlooked in Old London Town, even for the most famous celebrities. Everyone knew the Doctor from a thirty-year career in music, but most people didn’t know that _he_ , Ian Docherty, was the Doctor. In Glasgow, though, it was harder to escape his fame. Old friends and acquaintances could be pleasant to grab a drink with, but some of his old bandmates weren’t quite as welcome a distraction. Even though he bore them no ill will - most of them, anyway - they had the potential to be a fucking nuisance. And for the last month or so, they _had_ been a fucking nuisance. 

He knew what they wanted. It made sense and he didn’t even blame them. They had all reached the point in their careers where the words ‘ _Gallifrey reunion tour_ ’ got tossed around with some frequency. The idea held some superficial appeal but… he just didn’t think he could do it. Months on a tour bus with Missy… _fuck_. The very idea made him feel like there was glass in his bones. He didn’t need the exposure and he certainly didn’t need the money. If he did it - and he didn’t fucking want to - he would just be doing it for the hell of it, for the nostalgia factor. He wasn’t entirely sure that was a good enough reason. It was something to think about, but he didn’t want to think about it _right now_.

Ian had been in a mood while he was away. Well, to be fair, he’d been in a mood for most of his life. But it had been more pronounced for the last few months, and producing for bands that were still cranking out hits didn’t exactly help him feel better about his own status - nevermind the fact that he was _producing_ said hits. He wanted to be fucking making them himself. 

It had been several years since he’d had his own hit record - his longest dry spell ever, actually. His last album hadn’t done well: it had completely flopped in the States, and done only marginally better in the UK. Critics had complained that the lyrics were uninspired and the music lackluster. One reviewer had called it “moon/June shit” and went on to say that the entire album was “technically perfect but held a dearth of the soul that we’re so used to from the Doctor.” It had only gotten two of five stars - his lowest review ever. 

Publicly, he’d shrugged it off. Privately, he’d known the reviewers were right, and it weighed on him. He wasn’t writing well and hadn’t done so consistently since _RTD_ in 2010 - his last #1 album. His three albums since then had had some brilliant moments, but had not had the consistent quality his fans had gotten used to. Album and ticket sales had dropped off. Discouraged with himself, he’d tried to force the lyrics despite the fact he didn’t feel inspired. He was only forty-six, there was still plenty he had left to say, but for whatever reason, none of it would transfer into lyrics. 

So when _Nightmare in Silver_ had flopped spectacularly, he’d given up for a while, telling himself he was taking the time to let his inspiration come back. In the meantime, he’d produce for other artists, helping them make hits and keeping himself current in the industry. He’d play his guitar and let the muse take him where she would, _if_ she would. Where she led, Ian would follow. He always had. And, although she’d been harder to find recently, she’d gifted him with eleven solo albums and four with Gallifrey. She’d be back. When she came, he’d be back, too.

But secretly, deep down in places he didn’t talk about, Ian was worried. It had been several years since he’d felt his creativity flow the way he’d previously enjoyed, and he was becoming desperately afraid that he wouldn’t find that flow again. He feared that his inspiration had deserted him permanently: that all of his words had run dry. 

It kept him awake some nights, the fear that his career as a musician was over. He’d be more than fine if it was, at least financially. He never had to work again if he didn’t want, and if he _did_ want, there was high demand for him in the studio. It was good work - work he enjoyed - and he was damned good at it. 

But it didn’t satisfy that itch, that urge to create. The tinkering on gadgets and inventing he did helped, but it didn’t quite alleviate the urge. Making a clockwork squirrel couldn’t compare with the thrill of writing a song that an arena full of fans would sing back to you. And the need to be creative seemed to be getting stronger. 

Giving into the temptation to try again, Ian flipped the latches on his hard case and pulled out Tardis, his beloved blue Les Paul. “Hello, Old Girl,” he murmured, throwing the strap over his shoulder. He uncoiled the guitar cable and plugged in to his favorite Magpie amp. “I was too busy to play much while we were out of town. Sorry about that, darling. Fancy a go now?”

Without another word, he produced a pick out of his pocket and started playing. His fingers flew over the fretboard, pressing and bending strings as needed to produce a lilting melody he’d never played before. 

_Good,_ he thought. Maybe his creativity _was_ coming back. He had snippets of lyrics coming to him every now and then - usually at the most inconvenient time, like while driving or in the shower. But still, they were coming to him, and he was grateful for it. He was encouraged as the riff flowed from his fingertips over and over. It would take a lot more to make it into a song, but it was a start. He rather liked what he’d come up with so far. 

He tried to let his mind wander and catch an idea, but nothing occurred to him. The song, while pretty, didn’t put him in mind of anything, and the foremost subjects on his mind were the fact that he needed to ring Clara to let her know he was back in town, he had multiple errands to run in the morning after being away for so long, and wondering what he’d do for dinner. Maybe he’d ring up Fergus, see if he could tear his best mate away from domestic bliss long enough to grab a burger and an ale. But none of those thoughts were exactly conducive to songwriting, and his satisfaction with the fragment of a song he’d come up with just now vanished, leaving him irritable. 

Frustrated, he pulled Tardis off with a growl. Might have known he’d only be able to get partway there. The muse was just fucking with him at this point, he was sure of it. She could be a spiteful bitch, and he’d been in her line of fire for quite a while. 

Still, it had always been the case that inspiration hit when he was least expecting it. He just needed to do as he’d been telling himself and let things lie. Let them happen as they were meant to.

Ian sighed, dragging a hand down his face. He’d been ‘letting things lie’ for years now, and he’d never been good at not meddling in events. He missed being a musician, missed being creative, missed feeling artistic and expressive. His patience with the whole situation was wearing thin, and he knew that until the inspiration hit, he’d be like a fool standing out in the rain holding up an umbrella and a metal cane. He’d keep pushing and pushing himself until lightning struck and he was back in the game. 

He just hoped it would strike soon.

Cursing, he sat Tardis on her stand and stalked off to ring Fergus.


	2. Chapter 2

3 March 2016

Being in Glasgow for several weeks while he worked had left Ian with a ton of shit to do. He’d canceled the cleaning lady who came once a week while he was gone, trusting his manager, Clara, to get his mail and check on things. According to her, on one visit she’d noticed a rancid odor coming from the fridge. When she opened it, she said she’d found a cornucopia of spoiled and rotting food, and she’d been forced to empty the contents - a task Ian should have thought of before he’d left for several weeks. As a result, all he’d had in the flat to eat last night was a frozen meal, which he’d grumbled about while he flipped through the tall stack of mail on his counter, since he’d been unable to tear Fergus away from his girlfriend.

So this morning when he woke up, he’d set out to fix himself a cup of coffee to help brace himself to deal with paying bills and buying groceries - two tasks he hated more than just about any others. He’d been out of fucking k-cups, and had immediately let fly a string of curses that would have stunned most normal people, but were standard for him. Ian had never been into drugs, he’d never seen the appeal, but caffeine… Well, caffeine was different. And being denied his drug of choice first thing in the morning didn’t exactly set the tone for a fucking great day.

There were other little errands he had to do, too, besides the food and bills, leaving him with a full day of bullshit to accomplish. And he’d get to everything, but he was by-God going to have some fucking coffee first. 

With that in mind, he set out towards Torchwood Brew, the coffee shop he frequented most. It was attached to a bookshop, Bad Wolf Books, and Ian had ordered a book before he’d left for Glasgow that was bound to be in by now. If he picked up the book first, he’d be able to sit quietly and read it for a bit while he enjoyed his coffee. The thought lightened his mood - not much, but just a bit. Enough to quicken his steps for the three blocks until he got to the shop. 

When he got there, he didn’t see the redheaded shopgirl that was usually there or Pete, the proprietor. There was only a blonde girl standing behind the counter with her back to him, pulling books out of a box and stacking them neatly on a cart. She didn’t turn around to acknowledge him. His sour mood made that a bigger offense than it should have been, and he scowled as he went to the counter. The girl still didn’t turn around, and his mood darkened further. Finally, after an eternity (that was, in reality, only a few seconds), Ian spoke to get her attention. 

“Sorry to bother, but can I get some fucking help?”

The girl jumped, startled, and turned around. She smiled at him despite his rudeness, and Ian’s breath caught. Her smile was like a spotlight, momentarily paralyzing him in a way that had never happened to him on stage, and he forgot what he’d been angry about. He was sure that he was gaping, but couldn’t seem to help it. With blonde hair, a wide, soft mouth, and eyes like warm caramel, she was captivating. Simply gorgeous. His mouth worked a little, but he managed to catch himself before he did something abysmally stupid, like ask for her number. 

Reality settled in on him after a moment. She was gorgeous, yes, but looked to be half his fucking age. What would any stunning young beauty want with a forty-six year old man who looked every day of those years? He was many things, but attractive to young, beautiful women was not one of them - at least not the kind that would see past who he was on stage. 

Ian felt his scowl return, deeper than before. 

The blonde girl seemed not to mind: her smile stayed just as bright. 

“So sorry about that, I was lost in my own little world. How can I help you?”

“I’m Ian Docherty,” he began irritably, feeling the familiar apprehension that always came when he gave his name. “You ordered a book for me several weeks ago. I’m here to pick it up.”

“Alright,” the girl said, turning around and bending so she could open the cupboard behind her. She started rifling through the books there, muttering to herself. “Docherty, Docherty, Docherty… do you remember the title?”

Ian tore his eyes away from the patch of smooth skin that had been exposed by her shirt riding up as she squatted, angry with himself for having been distracted. “It’s a biography of Robert the Bruce. I don’t remember the fucking title,” he snapped.

She didn’t even flinch at his swearing, going on with her search instead. “Robert...the...Bruce… I’m not seeing it. How long ago did you order it?”

“I’ve been out of town for nearly a fucking month and a half. I don’t know exactly when it was. It’s been a while.”

“Hmmm…” she said, leaning forward, digging deeper, increasing the size of the bare patch of skin on her lower back. He swallowed hard, willing his thoughts into submission. She probably had a boyfriend. A girl that beautiful almost certainly would - or a husband. But he’d noticed no ring on her finger, so a husband seemed unlikely. 

The fact that he’d even checked her finger at all pissed him off. 

“Still not seeing it…”

“I never figured Pete to be the type,” he grumbled.

“The type for what?” she asked absently, still digging.

He thought for just a second about being polite and keeping his mouth shut, but this girl was driving him to distraction. Best to chase her off right away. “The type to hire a fucking simpleton just so he could have a pretty face around his shop. Seriously. How hard is it to find a fucking book?”

She stood then, spinning around to face him with the book in hand. She looked as if she’d been slapped - shock and anger were written all over her face. He tried to stop himself from what he was about to say, he really did, but the words came out anyway. 

“I’d’ve thought Pete would have had the sense to leave the shop in the hands of someone more fucking capable than you appear to be.”

The blonde girl just blinked at him, and he could have sworn she looked hurt instead of angry. The thought upset him, and it really shouldn’t have. Why should the shimmer of tears in her big brown eyes bother him?

She rallied, though, right before his eyes, and gave him a frigid smile that didn’t belong on her warm, open face - especially not now that he’d seen what he believed to be a genuine smile there. 

“Terribly sorry, Mr. Docherty, but unfortunately for you, Dad left the shop in _my_ inept hands.” She scanned the book and pressed a couple of buttons on the register without looking at him, her jaw set.

What she’d said finally sank through to his brain. _“Dad?”_

“That’ll be £13.50. And yes, _‘Dad’_.”

Ian blinked in surprise, then took out his wallet, handing her a card, still stunned. This girl was Pete’s _daughter_? Why had he never seen her in here before?

She fairly snatched the card from him without a word and scanned it, handing it back to him, then bagged his book. Ian watched the clearly angry movements with something that felt a bit like guilt. 

“Thank you,” she told him coldly, handing over his book.

It rose to his lips to make a clever remark about her not saying ‘come again’, but he’d done enough damage. Instead he quietly took his parcel and nodded, walking through the archway into Torchwood Brew. He could have sworn he heard a sniffle coming from behind him, but didn’t dare turn around and look. 

Jack spotted him entering from behind the counter and called out his name. He raised his hand in acknowledgement of his friend and approached the counter. 

“Where’ve you been?” Jack demanded, but with a smile, his hand stretched out to shake Ian’s. 

“Glasgow. Job took two weeks longer than I fucking expected.”

“Damn shame, too. With you gone, the level of eye candy to appreciate in this joint dropped considerably.”

There was a loud “oi!” from the end of the counter, and Jack turned towards the sound just in time for a towel to hit him in the face. He pulled the towel away, smiling brightly at the man who’d thrown it. 

“As long as you’re around, Ianto, I’ll always have someone to ogle inappropriately.”

“We’ve been together for three years, Jack. It’s only inappropriate when you do it in front of people.”

“Love you, Yan.”

“Oh shut up, you git.”

Jack simply turned back to Ian, his bright grin still on his face. “He loves me. Now, what can I get you? Your usual?”

“Colombian with a shot of espresso.”

“What size?”

“As big as you’ll give me.” Jack gave him a positively filthy grin, and Ian rolled his eyes. “You know what I fucking mean.”

“Coming right up. Want a croissant this morning?”

“Might as well,” Ian responded lazily. “Say, who’s the blonde girl next door? Claims to be Pete’s daughter.”

“Pete’s daughter,” Jack answered without turning around. “She wasn’t lying to you.”

“I didn’t think she was lying,” Ian protested feebly. “Just didn’t know who she fucking was.”

Jack threw him a look as he took the couple of steps to the espresso machine. “Yeah, she took over about three weeks ago. Hell of a thing, to be thrown into the deep end like that, but she’s holding her own. Doing better than she thinks she is, anyway. Another month or so and she’ll be running the Bad Wolf like she was born to do it.”

Ian furrowed his brow in confusion. “Why’s Pete got his daughter running the Bad Wolf? Where the fuck is he?”

The other man spun around, a cup of coffee in his hand and a shocked expression on his face. “You don’t know?” Ian shrugged, feeling a bit stupid, and Jack shook his head with a rueful laugh. “Of course you wouldn’t know. You were in Helsinki.”

“When did I go to fucking Helsinki? I’ve been in Glasgow for the last several weeks. And what don’t I know?”

“Pete died,” Jack said in a low voice. “He was hit by a car while crossing the street. Hit and run.”

Ian’s eyes went wide. “No. He _died_?”

Jack nodded. “Happened about four or five weeks ago, now. The 27th of January. Must have been right after you left town.”

“Must have been,” Ian muttered, then leaned forward, bracing himself against the counter on his fists, hanging his head a little. Pete had been something of a friend, a nice man who sold books and made pleasant conversation. He’d frequently joined Ian while he sipped his coffee, and the two had discussed history and other benign, small topics together. But Pete had never mentioned a daughter. 

A daughter who was now grieving. 

A daughter that he’d just called a fucking simpleton.

“Mother _fucker_ ,” he muttered.

“Problem?”

“I just had a… run-in with the girl.”

Jack cocked an eyebrow. “What kind of run-in? You tend to be an asshole…”

Ian cringed. “I…” He cleared his throat and went on. “I… may have implied she was incompetent.” 

“Oh, Jesus,” Jack said with wide eyes and deflating shoulders. “That was probably the _worst_ thing you could have said.”

He opened his mouth to tell Jack just what _else_ he’d said, but decided against it. That ‘guilty’ feeling was starting to intensify, and he didn’t like it one bit. Telling Jack, who was obviously fond of the girl, what he’d done would only compound that feeling. He didn’t fancy doing that.

“What should I…?” he started, not entirely sure what he was going to ask. Jack held up a hand to cut him off.

“Don’t apologize,” he said, sounding almost weary. “She won’t want to hear it right now anyway, if she’s hurt and angry. Just pretend it never happened, I suppose. Next time you go into the Bad Wolf, try not to be a dick. She’ll forgive you and forget all about it after a couple of pleasant experiences, if she hasn’t already before then. But if I know Rosie, she’ll probably have brushed it off by the end of the day. She’s a forgiving soul. The kindest I’ve ever known.”

Ian didn’t say anything to that, just pulled out his wallet and dug out the appropriate number of notes to pay for his coffee and croissant. Once the transaction was finished he went to his usual table, the one just beside the archway to the bookshop, and had a seat. He pulled his new biography of Robert the Bruce out of the bag he’d been given, thinking of the woman who had handed it to him. 

_Rosie._ Jack had called her ‘Rosie’. Ian wondered if it was short for anything. Rosanna? Rosaline? He didn’t know, but --

Wait. What the fuck did he care? She was just the girl he’d have to fucking deal with when he wanted a new book. Come to think of it, _that_ wasn’t even the case. He could go to another shop or even order from Amazon, if he wanted. Just because he’d been loyal to the Bad Wolf since he had moved into the neighborhood five years ago didn’t mean he had to _stay_ loyal. There were scads of other bookshops around Notting Hill. Other places he could get coffee, too. He didn’t need this place. 

A flash of movement through the archway caught his eye, and he saw the girl getting to her feet from behind the counter. He wasn’t exactly an expert on women, but it looked like she may have been crying. Her eyes were rimmed with pink and her nose was a little red. She certainly wasn’t smiling like she had been, and he found that he missed it. That feeling like guilt swept over him again, settling in his chest, making him feel heavy. 

She hadn’t deserved what he’d said. He’d lashed out because he was in a bad mood; she’d done nothing to provoke him. There was no way he hadn’t hurt the girl. Even if she had skin as thick as a rhino, bringing up her recently - and suddenly - departed father had to have been a blow. No one liked being reminded of something like that, especially when the wound of loss was so fresh. 

Ian debated walking over into the Bad Wolf and apologizing despite Jack’s warning against it, wondering if that may ease the guilt. It wasn’t something he was especially adept at, though he was sure he could figure it out. 

But he watched her instead, over the top of his book. She moved around behind the counter, organizing and sorting, then went back to unloading the boxes onto the cart. Her hair fell and obscured her face, and he cursed a little under his breath. 

She never looked over at him, not once, and that stung for some reason. He laughed at himself for being so stupid. It didn’t matter. She was just some shopgirl. 

Shaking her off and closing his book, he wadded up the paper bag that had held his croissant and drained the last of his coffee. He felt better now that he’d had a jolt of caffeine, and if he was still feeling a bit guilty, he was sure he’d have no trouble brushing that shit off. Fuck the girl. He didn’t need her. And if he ignored this nagging feeling, it would go away. 

Ian gave Jack and Ianto a wave before he pushed the door open and stepped out onto the busy pavement, determined to finish his errands in a timely manner. _Without_ thinking of a blonde shopgirl.

~*~O~*~

Rose pushed the empty cart into the back room, wheeling it to a stop in the corner where it usually stayed. Now that the rude git was completely gone, she thought maybe she’d be alright. She hadn’t meant to cry over what he’d said, but his words had cut her deeply. It was almost as if he’d gotten right to the root of her insecurities and voiced them aloud, but of course he couldn’t possibly know what went on in her head. Nevertheless, she’d felt forced to crouch behind the counter to let a few tears out, else she might explode. 

Really, who was he, anyway? Nobody, that’s who. Just some tall, bearded bloke with sunglasses hanging off his shirt and a chip on his shoulder for some reason. He didn’t matter, and neither did his opinion. She didn’t need the approval of some old grouch who liked to swear at young ladies. She knew her worth. She didn’t need the likes of _him_ to tell her. 

But it had still hurt like hell, and she couldn’t understand why. Tears welled again. 

“Rose? That you?” Donna called out from the other side of the stockroom. 

“Yeah,” she answered, wiping her eyes hurriedly, knowing it was hopeless. 

Donna rounded the corner and took her in. She knew she must have looked a fright - waterproof mascara only seemed to hold out so long before it threw in the towel and ran anyway, leaving her streaked with red, puffy eyes - but Rose did her best to straighten her shoulders and smile bravely. The kindness and compassion on the older woman’s face did her in, though, and the tears started to fall again. Donna didn’t say anything, just stepped forward and pulled Rose into her arms. 

“S’alright, love. S’alright.”

Rose let herself cry for a minute, accepting the comfort she was being offered, then pulled back and started trying to mop up her face with her bare hands. She gave a little laugh when Donna had come prepared and presented her with a handkerchief. 

“Your dad?” Donna asked soothingly. 

“Kind of,” Rose began. “There was this… customer. He’d ordered a book a couple of months ago, before Dad died, I guess, but I couldn’t find it. He snapped at me, called me a simpleton, then he said… he said…” Tears spilled again but she brushed them away in irritation and carried on. “He said he couldn’t believe Dad had left the shop to someone so incapable.”

“No,” Donna gasped, and Rose nodded. “Who was he?”

Rose shook her head. She remembered the man’s face all too clearly and wouldn’t be forgetting his name anytime soon, either. _Ian Docherty_. But she didn’t want to say it aloud, for some reason, so she shook her head dismissively. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. He probably won’t come back. And if he does, I can just sell him books without talking to him more than I have to.”

“If he’s a problem --” Donna began defensively. 

“There’s no need to do anything,” she insisted. “I’m over it. Think I just needed a good cry.”

Donna gathered her close again. “You just cry any old time you need to, love.”

Rose did, accepting the warm hug from Donna, but gathered herself quickly. Crying did no good. She had a shop to run and contrary to what the grumpy old git who had been so rude thought, she was determined to do it well. Her father was counting on her. She wouldn’t let him down.


	3. Chapter 3

5 March 2016

That guilty feeling didn’t go away. 

Ian did his best to ignore it, telling himself that it was stupid and surely the girl was past it by now. He doubted very seriously that she’d stayed hurt and angry for days over something a stranger said to her. If she thought of it at all, he was sure she probably just had the incident flit through her mind and annoy her for a moment. Maybe she called him a bastard under her breath, then she went about her day. That had to be the way it was. There was no way a rude stranger had stayed on her mind that long. No way at all. 

But that reasoning didn’t make him feel any better, and it didn't ease his guilt. 

He lasted a measly two days before he finally caved. The guilt was eating him alive. He’d tried to go to another coffee shop, taking a notebook to jot lyrics in if they came to him, but he wasn’t even able to write a fucking grocery list without the pained look in the girl’s eyes rising up to haunt him. It was untenable, he couldn’t stand it, so he set out on Saturday morning to go to the Bad Wolf and apologize. 

But the closer he got to the shop, the more his resolve wavered. The things he’d practiced saying flew out of his head, one by one, until he stopped on the pavement half a block from the bookshop, trying to remember just what it was he wanted to say. Nothing was occurring to him, and he swore between clenched teeth. What the fuck was wrong with him? He needed to get this girl out of his system immediately. She was fucking with him. 

Right. He’d apologize to the girl, then be on his way. “I’m sorry I was fucking rude” would be sufficient, and then he could put all of this behind him. Excellent plan. 

He started walking again and arrived at the door to the Bad Wolf, but didn’t slow down or stop. Instead he walked right by and pushed open the door to Torchwood, cursing himself soundly for being a coward. 

“Ian!” Jack called out, and Ianto raised a hand in greeting. Ian pursed his lips in something that may pass for a smile and went to the counter. “Haven’t seen you for a couple days,” Jack grinned. “Thought maybe you were cheating on me with a Starbucks.” 

“No,” Ian answered, completely uninterested in Jack’s usual flirty banter. “I’ve just been busy.” It was a lie, all he’d been doing was trying desperately to write something... _anything_ , but no one needed to know that.

Jack gave him a skeptical grin. “Busy. Yeah, okay.”

“I have been,” Ian insisted, doubling down. “It’s been fucking madness.”

Ianto rolled his eyes and nudged his boyfriend out of the way. “What can we get you, Ian?”

“Columbian with espresso. Tall or venti or what the fuck ever. Large.”

Jack grinned again while Ianto turned to make the beverage. “Need to be careful with that, man. It’ll put hair on your chest if you’re not careful.”

“Mother Nature already beat you to it, ta,” Ian replied in a dry tone. Jack just laughed and went to the register to ring up the coffee. 

While Jack was occupied, Ian looked around the coffee shop again, taking a bit more time. There was the usual cluster of people in the shop, some of them talking together quietly and others reading or working on laptops. But like there was some sort of magnetic force guiding them, his eyes landed on the girl. Her hair had once again fallen over her face, obscuring it from his view, but he was sure it was her. He wasn’t sure _how_ he was sure, he just was. She was sitting at his regular table, in his regular chair, almost as if she was waiting for him. He felt the corners of his lips curl up unexpectedly, then he scowled at himself. What the fuck was wrong with him? 

Ian weighed his options while he paid for his beverage and waited for it to be ready. There were really only two. He could take his coffee and run like the coward he was, or he could give this girl what he owed her, which was a genuine apology.

Neither option was overly appealing to him. If he ran, which seemed preferable, the worst case scenario would be that he continued to feel guilty for what he had said. Not so bad, right? Going over and apologizing to her had the potential to go much worse. She may not be receptive to what he had to say; could throw her water in his face and storm off. _That_ would be humiliating… but he supposed at least then he’d have the burden of guilt off his back. Maybe. And maybe he’d be able to write again. Maybe. 

He took his coffee from a grinning Jack, not knowing which he would do, leaning towards making a quick break for the door. That’s what he _should_ do, he decided. The guilt would go away eventually. He should really just leave. 

His feet had other ideas, however, and walked him over to where she sat. She still had her hair down, covering her face, and seemed engrossed in her book, so she didn’t see him. He stood by the table for a few seconds, feeling like a grade-A creeper, then his mouth opened and words spilled out. 

“Excuse me, you’re in my spot.”

She raised her head off of the hand that had been propping it and looked up at him. Ian could tell the moment she recognized him, because her eyes went wide for just a second before she looked down hurriedly, setting about closing the books she had open in front of her. 

“Sorry, I’ll just --”

“No!” He put a hand on her shoulder, then pulled it away like he’d been burned and cleared his throat while she gaped at him. 

_Her eyes aren’t caramel, they’re topaz_ , he noted. 

Shaking that thought off, he went on. “I meant no, you should stay. I was just…” He stumbled, not sure what to say next, and cursed himself. _Get it together you fucking moron!_

For the second time he opened his mouth and words came out, absent of thought or permission. “May I sit down?”

She blinked up at him then nodded, looking back down at her books and stacking them neatly but slowly, as if preparing herself to make a quick getaway. Ian wasted no time dropping into the seat across from her.

“I’ll let you have your seat. I’m sorry.”

“I came over to apologize,” he said in a rush, this time under the influence of his brain.

The girl looked confused. “You did?”

“I did,” he nodded and said, but nothing more. 

“You don’t seem the type,” she said, still looking at him almost suspiciously. 

“I’m usually not. It’s rare that I ever feel compelled to apologize for something I say or do. You should count yourself lucky.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and he could have kicked himself. Then, by some miracle, her face cleared and she almost smiled. Almost. 

“I’m lucky, huh?”

Ian could _feel_ a shift in the tone of the conversation - an ease in the tension - and debated how to proceed. Should he keep being the gruff bastard he always was? That wasn’t very endearing, he knew, but he usually didn’t give a fuck about being endearing. Did he care this time? Nevermind. Don’t think about that. Gruff bastard was out. 

Should he try his hand at being friendly? It wasn’t his typical MO, but he could give it a whirl. He could make pleasant conversation, couldn’t he? He was capable of that, of course he was. But was that the best course of action? He wasn’t quite sure. Perhaps he should try being funny? 

No. Definitely not.

Friendly it was, then. Couldn’t hurt, right?

“I’m thinking perhaps we need a second chance,” he said. “A do-over, if you will.” He smiled at her. It felt unnatural on his face, especially given the situation, but still somehow right. 

“Hello,” he said, letting go of his coffee and extending his hand, offering to shake if she wished. “My name is Ian Docherty.”

She looked at his hand suspiciously, then offered her own. “Rose Tyler,” she said, shaking his hand.

“Not Rosie?”

Rose tilted her head to the side. “Where did you get that?”

“Jack. He called you that on the day that I…” He stumbled, letting go of her hand and putting it back around his coffee cup, looking down at it. “I really am very sorry about that day. The things that I said --”

She didn’t let him finish, but her voice, when she interrupted, was soft, kind. It was a tone that he didn’t hear much in his life. “It’s okay.”

He looked up at her. “It’s really not. I had no right to even _think_ those things, much less say them. You shouldn’t have had to pay the price because I was in a fucking mood.”

She grinned, her face brightened, and Ian felt something like an electrical pulse shoot all through him. 

“Everyone has bad days, Mr. Docherty.”

He blinked to clear his head from her smile. “But not everyone is an absolute twat because they’re grumpy.”

Rose giggled, and it sounded like a melody. One he wanted to hear again. 

“That’s true,” she conceded, still smiling. “Perhaps it was just my _lucky_ day. D’ya think?”

Her topaz eyes were twinkling at him, but then her tongue came out to the corner of her mouth between her teeth, and he absolutely could _not_ stop himself staring at it. 

“Mr. Docherty?” She interrupted his train of thought, which had drifted into wondering what it would be like to kiss her, what she would taste like, what her tongue would feel like tracing his. “Are you alright?”

“Ian, please,” he said, tearing his eyes away and back up to hers, his voice sounding a little strained in his ears. “Call me Ian.”

“Ian,” she smiled, tongue thankfully hiding in her mouth again, not making him barmy. _Where the hell had his mind gone just then?_ “I like that. ‘Ian’. But I can only call you Ian if you call me Rose.”

“You sure you wouldn’t prefer Rosie?” His tone was light, but the question was genuine. She hadn’t answered him before, and he had no idea. 

Rose shook her head and gave another tinkling laugh. He could get used to that sound. “No, not Rosie. Jack started calling me that when we first met ten years ago. When he and Dad first went into business together, so to speak. I hate it coming from pretty much anyone else, but from Jack… I dunno. It just sounds right when he says it.”

“Perhaps it’s the accent,” Ian volunteered, taking a sip of his coffee. “All sorts of ordinary things sound different and exotic when spoken in an unfamiliar accent.”

She laughed again, and he made up his mind to try to make her laugh more. He didn’t bother analyzing that thought any more or demanding of himself to know what the fuck was wrong. He’d do that later, he was sure.

“An American accent is nearly as exotic as a Scottish brogue,” she teased. 

“That’s me. I’m terribly exotic.” 

Rose giggled some more, and he couldn’t help but grin. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Jack and Ianto looking on, Jack with a little smirk on his face. He resisted the urge to give them a rude gesture.

“I was sorry to hear about your father,” he blurted, killing the laughter instantly. 

Rose’s face fell predictably, and she looked down at the table, picking her nails. “Thank you.”

“He was a good man. I considered him something of a friend.” Ian hesitated. “I didn’t know about --”

She looked up at him and though her eyes were sad, she had a little smile lighting her features. “You were friends?”

“We weren’t fucking bosom buddies or anything, but we talked.”

“And he never told you he had a daughter?”

“I don’t believe he did, no. If he did, I missed it. Either option is equally likely,” he said, a little sheepish. “Mostly we talked about books and the subjects within said books.”

“Well, he did have a daughter. I’m her.”

“Are you an only child?”

Rose nodded. “Yeah. Mum and Dad split up before they could give me a sibling. Neither of them ever remarried.”

“Really?”

“No. They loved each other. They were probably meant to be together, but they were both too stubborn to do what they had to do to make a proper go of it.” She gave a rueful, sad little laugh. “The divorce was almost a quarter century ago, but Mum’s still grieving his death - more than one would expect.”

“That’s… terrible,” Ian said, at a loss.

She shrugged. “It’s the life they chose. But what about you?” she changed the subject. “Married? Kids?”

“No, no, no. Fuck no. Not me,” he held up his hands, palms out. “None of that for me.”

“Never?”

“No. Never married. No children. I’d probably be a lousy husband anyway, or would have been. For one thing, my work calls me away fairly often, sometimes for long periods of time. I just got back from several weeks in Glasgow a few days ago.”

“Yes, you mentioned having been out of town the other day.”

Speaking of the other day… “Look, Rose, again, I’m sor-”

“How was Robert the Bruce?”

Ian took a sip of his coffee, deciding against apologizing again. For now. “He’s well, sends his regards.”

She blinked once before she laughed, a full sound that spread a smile across his face he couldn’t have helped if he’d tried. Maybe ‘funny’ was in his wheelhouse, after all. 

“That’s clever,” she grinned, spinning her bottle of water around in her hand absently. “You’re funny.”

“Not usually,” he admitted. “This is an anomaly.”

“It’s a nice one, then. I like it.”

“‘Nice’ is not a word that’s typically applied to me.” He took another sip solely to hide his face. 

“No?” She raised an eyebrow. “Bit of a prick, are you? I find that hard to believe.”

He lowered his cup to find her tongue back at the corner of her mouth and, once again, his eyes flew directly to it. She was teasing him and damned if he didn’t like it.

“Can be, yeah,” he responded when he gathered the ability to think. “How do you like running the shop?”

She glanced over his shoulder into the still-empty shop, then shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s still early for me. I’m learning as I go and I know I’ll get it, but I’m impatient. I don’t want to _learn_ what I’m doing, I want to _know_ what I’m doing _right now._ Does that make sense?” 

Ian nodded. Impatience was something he was familiar with in his own life. He thought of his inability to write lately, then mentally shook his head when Rose went on.

“I hate that I’m making mistakes, and I worry that I’m going to eventually make a _serious_ mistake. Something disastrous that could ruin the shop and everything my Dad worked so hard for.”

“You won’t,” he assured her, wanting to smooth the worry line from her brow any way he could. “I’m sure you’ll be brilliant.”

One corner of her lip quirked up. “That’s quite a turnabout from the other day, Mr. Docherty.”

“Ian. And again, I am so sorry about that. I didn’t mean it.”

“I know. I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have brought it up. It’s forgotten now: I won’t mention it again. Alright?”

 _Thank Christ_.

“Fair enough,” he said instead. “But I do think you’ll be brilliant.”

Rose grinned, almost absently. “I’d be perfectly happy just to be competent. But thank you for your vote of confidence.”

“You’re welcome.”

She took a swig of her water, then sat it down and gave him a speculative look. “So, Ian, what did you and my Dad talk about?”

Ian shrugged. “Mostly the books we were each reading. We had similar tastes.”

“Historical biographies?”

“The occasional contemporary biography as well, but it’s rare that I’ll reach for one of those. I tend to prefer history… and space.” 

“Space?” 

“Yes. I was in uni for astrophysics and engineering before I dropped out --” He froze. The truth had almost flown out, but he wasn’t ready to tell her that just yet. 

She prodded him a little. “You dropped out…?”

“To pursue my career,” he finished, hoping she wouldn’t think him too odd.

She seemed to digest this for a minute, then went on, apparently deciding not to prod. “That’s fascinating. You must have learned so much. I used to love going to the planetarium when I was in primary, on school trips. I’d learn all about the planets and constellations, then come home and bore Mum to death with everything I’d learned. It was always my favorite day of the year, save Christmas.”

Ian grinned at the thought of her excited and happy.

“When I was little,” she went on in a smaller voice, “I used to pretend I could fly around in space and visit all these worlds. Deep down, I always believed that I would. But here I am, stuck in London, right where I’ve always been.”

He had the mad desire to grab her by the hand, pull her to her feet, tell her to run, and take her on mad adventures. 

_What the hell is wrong with you?_

She cleared her throat after an awkward pause. “Anyway…”

The pause went on. He wasn’t sure what to say, and she seemed to be at a loss, too. Both sat there awkwardly for a few moments, then Rose broke the silence. 

“I’ve got a few new books in the astronomy section, if you’d like to have a look. Some in history, too. I’m trying to shake up the inventory a bit, especially in non-fiction.” 

“I’d love to,” Ian said, intensely grateful for the invitation and not sure why.

The two cleared up the mess at the table, then made their way into the Bad Wolf - Ian ignoring Jack’s leer. She walked him back to the astronomy section and pointed to the new arrivals. Ian thanked her, not sure what else to say, then Rose left him with a bright smile that made him feel a bit like he’d been hit by a lorry. 

She went back to the counter to talk to the red-haired clerk, Donna, Ian believed her name was, and he picked a book off the shelf at random. He didn’t read it, though, he simply used it as a prop so he could watch Rose covertly. 

He honestly hadn’t expected her to accept his apology, not really, and certainly not right away. The fact that she had was frankly stunning, the fact that she’d sat and talked with him for a while even more so. It spoke to a level of compassion and kindness that was more than uncommon, it was nearly unheard of. She’d surprised him further by being delightful. Rose was bright, clever, downright sunny, and fucking gorgeous. 

He groaned out loud when it hit him. Fuck it all, he was attracted to her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll make you guys a deal. You keep commenting and letting me know what you think and I’ll post three times a week, on Mondays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. Sound good? 
> 
> A couple of notes:  
> ~ This should have gone at the beginning of the story but I forgot. My father is a musician who has recorded many albums over five decades, but I am not in the music business, so my knowledge of the recording industry is going to be a bit spotty. I’m sorry for any mistakes.  
> ~ Also, I can’t figure out, from instance to instance, whether it’s supposed to be “wracked” or “racked”, as in “Rose (w)racked her brain.” When I asked, I got every imaginable answer, but most people said they were interchangeable, so I’m hoping that’s right. My apologies if I got it wrong.  
> ~ Last but not least, I just discovered the LLF Comment Project and am making this story a part of that. For more information, see - https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject  
> I welcome all comments and feedback! 
> 
> Thank you!

5 March 2016 (cont.)

Ringing Ian up for the astronomy book was much more pleasant than the first time had been, with the Robert the Bruce biography. Ian himself was infinitely more pleasant, although he seemed just a bit… stiff. Rose wasn’t sure why, but she supposed it wasn’t her business, anyway. 

She bagged his book and handed it to him, smiling. “There you go, Ian. I hope you’ll come back soon.”

An odd look passed over his face, but it vanished quickly. “I’m in here fairly regularly, whenever I finish a book.”

“Are you a fast reader?”

“Quite.”

“Good,” she smiled, tongue going between her teeth. 

His eyes flicked down to her mouth before they popped back up. “The shop seems to be doing well, you don’t need my patronage.”

“Of course we do. If you’re a loyal customer, we want to keep you for ourselves.” He seemed ready to say something, but Rose cut him off. “Besides…” She felt herself flush. Lowering her eyes for a second, she busied herself by rearranging the pens beside the register, then spoke as she worked. “It was nice talking to you.”

“Yeah?”

His voice had an odd quality to it. She smiled up at him, nodding. “Yeah. You’re not the grouch I thought you were.”

“Actually, I am,” he assured her. “I’m a right bastard.”

“Nah. You’re a nice bloke.”

He didn’t say anything to that, just stared at her for a second then cleared his throat and looked away, pulling his sunglasses off the front of his shirt, putting them on. “Right then. Miss Tyler, it was a pleasure to talk with you today.”

“Hope we can do it again,” she threw out with a bright smile, surprised to find that she meant it. 

Ian smiled back. “Soon, if you’d like.”

“Soon, then.” 

His smile grew, and hers grew in response. After a second he nodded his head once as a goodbye then walked to the front door. Rose waved as he left, biting her lip when he was out of sight. 

_How odd_ , she thought. She never would have imagined the man who had been so rude to her would come back and apologize for it. She was glad to know that he hadn’t meant the things he’d said, though. His words had bothered her more than she wanted to admit to him. It was nice to discover that he was actually a nice bloke - no matter what he thought of himself. 

Nice _looking_ bloke, too. His features were sharp but handsome, softened by some very appealing scruff, and his eyes were blue - the kind of blue she’d never seen on a real person before, only in pictures. Almost teal. She had a feeling they’d likely change color depending on his clothing and possibly his mood. His dress was… unconventional, but suited him. He was very casual in what looked like a well-loved t-shirt under a hoodie, all of that under a velvet jacket. But it worked for him, somehow - and Rose liked it. Even his curly, greying hair was appealing, she thought. If it wasn’t for -- 

_No._ She shook her head, denying the thought the chance to even finish forming. She had a store to run, a flat to move into, another flat to clean out and let. She simply didn’t have time to think about blokes. She didn’t need to, anyway. Her life was full enough to be getting on with. 

But Rose smiled. She _did_ hope that he’d come back to chat with her soon, whether she should or not.

~*~O~*~

Rose pulled a slice of pizza out of the box and laid it on her plate, taking a moment to lick her finger clean of the sauce that had landed there. Jack bumped his hip against hers.

“Scootch over, Rosie.”

Smiling, she did as asked, stepping to the side so that he could get his food. Once she had pizza, napkin, and a Coke in hand, she made her way into the lounge where Donna and Ianto had already settled in on the couch and an armchair, respectively. Rose went to the coffee table and put her food down there, crossing her legs under her. She had planned on just her and Donna going through her dad’s flat, but Jack and Ianto had volunteered to help. When she told them that wasn’t necessary, they’d fairly insisted. She’d caved - and she was glad that she had, now. They’d been invaluable.

“You could sit up here with me, you know,” Donna told her, patting the free cushion next to her. 

“I know,” she answered, settling in. “I figured I’d let Jack have the seat instead.”

“That’s sweet, Rosie, but… why?”

She gave him a bright grin. “Age before beauty.”

“Cheeky. Good thing I have both, then.” He winked at Donna. Ianto rolled his eyes. “Speaking of age and beauty,” he said, cutting through Rose and Donna’s giggles. “Looked like you had some company today in the shop.”

“I had lots of customers, it was a busy day.”

“Not your shop, _our_ shop,” Jack clarified. 

She thought for a second, trying to remember having company, then flushed when she did. “Yeah…”

“Who?” Donna asked, looking between all of them. 

Jack looked smug. “Ian Docherty. It seems that he and Rosie share an affinity for the same table, and he joined her today.”

Donna’s eyes were wide. “ _Ian Docherty_? Don’t tell me: he was the unpleasant bloke?”

“It was nothing,” Rose said nonchalantly, opening her soda. “He was rude to me a couple of days ago and apologized for it. There wasn’t any ulterior motive or anything.”

The redhead’s eyes were still saucers. “Yeah, but… _Ian Docherty_...”

“What about him?”

“He’s rude to _everybody_.”

Ianto nodded. “That’s true. He tends to be… prickly.”

“He’s warmed up to Ianto and me over the years, mostly due to my magnetic charm.” Ianto rolled his eyes again. “But when he first started coming in…” Jack didn’t finish, just shook his head a little, leaving whatever Ian had been like unsaid. 

Rose’s brow knitted in confusion. “He was perfectly lovely to me today, once he apologized.”

“Seemed that way from where I was watching,” Jack said around a bite of pizza, causing Donna to make a face at his lack of manners. Then he swallowed. “I’ve never seen him smile that much, to be honest.”

“Really?” Rose asked, incredulous. Jack and Ianto nodded. She thought for a minute, reviewing their conversation mentally. What could have had him smiling?

It seemed Donna was thinking along the same lines. “What did you two talk about?”

Rose didn’t look up from her pizza when she answered, still racking her brain. “Nothing significant, just small talk. He apologized, then we reminisced about my dad a bit. We talked about what kind of books he usually buys from the shop.” She grinned a little. “He called me Rosie, said he’d picked it up from you,” she said, balling her napkin in her hand and pointing a finger at Jack. He held up his hands innocently, and Rose giggled. “I set him straight. He knows my name is Rose now.” Then she pointed at Jack again. “But don’t think you’re off the hook, mister. I still want to know why you’d been talking about me.”

“It was nothing bad. He came to the shop right after he’d been rude to you. Said you two had had a… what did he call it, Yan?”

“A run-in,” Ianto supplied.

“That’s right. A ‘run-in’. All he’d say was that he’d implied you weren’t capable of running the shop.” 

Rose felt an unpleasant little twinge at the memory of the things he’d said, but brushed it off. That was in the past. She’d made friends with him today. 

...Hadn’t she?

Jack was still talking. “I told him not to apologize, just to leave you be and you’d get over it eventually. Knew it wouldn't take you long. You’re a forgiving soul.”

“You told him not to apologize?”

He nodded. “I thought it best if he left you alone, at least right then. Give you time to get over it. He’s usually only in once a week or so. I knew by then you’d probably be past whatever happened.”

Rose absorbed that for a second then asked the room at large: “Donna called him unpleasant, and you say he never smiles. Is he a bad man or something?”

Donna was silent, with pursed lips, but Jack and Ianto shook their heads. 

“Nah.”

“He’s just a grumpy git, like Donna said.”

She nodded, still not sure what to think. After a moment she nodded again, more decisive. “Well, that’s good to know. I enjoyed talking to him today, so I invited him to come back and do it again sometime.”

“You didn’t,” Donna gasped. 

“I did.”

“But… why?”

“I just said, didn’t I? I enjoyed talking with him. I left all my friends behind when I moved to Notting Hill from Peckham, save you lot. I won’t see them nearly as much now. He was very nice to me. I had no reason _not_ to ask him back.”

“Well, he’s been an arse to me,” Donna huffed. “Mark my words. He’ll show his true colors soon. You’ll be lucky then: he’ll storm out and never come back.”

“I don’t know, Donna,” Jack said. “Like I said, I’ve never seen him smile that much before, and certainly not at a woman. Our grumpiest regular might be smitten.”

Rose laughed. “Oh, pish-posh. That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it, Rose?” Ianto asked. “You’re beautiful, clever, funny… all the things a man might find attractive.”

“Not you though, right, Yan?”

Ianto rolled his eyes for a third time. “You’re the man-whore, Jack. Not me.”

“Hey, now! I’m as loyal as an old dog!”

“You got the ‘dog’ part right.”

“Boys!” Donna interrupted them. “Settle it between the sheets later.”

Rose giggled at the look Jack gave Ianto. 

“As I was saying, Rose,” Ianto went on, blushing a bit as he tore his eyes away from Jack to focus on her again. “You’re absolutely lovely. Any straight man would be a fool _not_ to want you.”

It was Rose’s turn to blush. “Pull the other one.”

“You’re attractive, Rosie. In several ways. Just because you don’t see it doesn’t mean it isn’t there. The facts don’t change if you don’t believe them.” 

She shook her head, laughing. “You lot are barmy. He’s not interested in me. And even if he _was_ , it wouldn’t amount to anything. We’re very different. Just… just look at our ages! Besides,” she held up her hand when Jack made to speak. “I wouldn’t have time for a relationship right now, anyway. I have the shop to run.”

“You’re always going to have the shop to run, hon,” Jack pointed out. She tried to protest, but he wouldn’t let her. “I’m not telling you that you should jump into a romance with a man twice your age. I was mostly kidding about him being smitten anyways. But I’m not telling you _not_ to, either. I’m saying… I’m saying that if someone _does_ come along, you should let yourself be open to it. You deserve all the best things. Don’t turn away a good thing just to run the shop. This could be a good thing - a friendship, at least.”

“Okay, Jack,” she agreed in a placating tone, and the conversation turned. When the pizza was all finished, Donna took her plate and napkin to throw it away, then went back to packing dishes. Jack and Ianto had volunteered to box up her dad’s bedroom, saying they thought it might be a bit emotional and uncomfortable for Rose. She was grateful. It would have felt much too personal for her.

Once they’d all gone back to their jobs, she scooted the few feet across the floor to the entertainment center and started boxing her dad’s CDs, turning the conversation she’d just had over in her mind. 

There was no reason for her to have felt a stab of disappointment when Jack said he’d been kidding about Ian liking her, but she had. No matter what he said, the idea was ridiculous. All of it, ridiculous. Her life was busy, and frankly, she wouldn’t want it to be any other way. Like she’d said, she didn’t have time for a romance, and she didn’t particularly want one. She’d stopped believing in fairy tales a long, long time ago, and knew there was no handsome prince in her future. On top of that, it had been _years_ since she had been in a relationship. She probably wouldn’t know how to do it anymore, even if she wanted to. Which she didn’t. At all. Period.

Maybe she should keep an eye on Ian, though, just to make sure he _wasn’t_ smitten. The very idea was almost laughable, but it would be better to be safe than sorry. She’d be able to tell, wouldn’t she? Rose nodded to herself. Of course she would. Women knew that kind of thing instinctively. She wanted him to come back and pass some time with her, but that had nothing to do with any imaginary attraction between the two of them. He was good company, that was all. He’d make a nice _platonic_ friend. Someone whose visits to the shop she could look forward to. And if she got the impression that he was attracted to her, she’d nip that right in the bud. 

There. A plan. It wouldn’t come to that, but she knew what to do if it did. She was in control of the situation, and that felt good. There weren’t too many areas of her life she could say that about at this particular junction. 

Rose flipped through the CDs as she packed them, seeing if there was anything she wanted to filch and load into her iTunes. Most of her dad’s music -- 

The cover art on the CD in her hand made her freeze. That bloke looked familiar. Could it be…? 

Nah. He was on her brain, was all, so she was seeing him where he wasn’t. Cool band, though. “ _Gallifrey._ ” Her mum had always liked them; she’d heard them a lot in the car growing up. Seemed like her dad had liked them, too.

Rose kept going through the CDs, her graphic designer’s eye appreciating the well-done cover art. When she got to the last one, the guitar player _still_ looked familiar. She flipped it over to the back, then opened the jewel case to look at the liner notes. 

_Lead Guitar and Vocals - The Doctor_

Rose laughed at herself, then closed the jewel case. But she set those four CDs aside along with a couple others to take to her own flat.

~*~O~*~

6 March 2016

Ian strode into the Fox and Badger purposefully, glancing around the room for his best mate. He spotted Fergus in the corner and, smirking a little, started towards him. 

“Hello there, cockwomble,” he said by way of greeting. 

Graham Fergus Fitzgerald, called ‘Fergus’ by his best friend (and no one else), looked up from his lager with a fond grin that Ian returned. “How goes it, dipshit?”

“Not bad, not bad,” Ian said as he took the seat in the booth across from Fergus and signaled the waitress for a lager. He and Fergus had been coming to this bar for several years. They liked it because it afforded them - especially Ian - the privacy that most other pubs didn’t. They were able to drink and socialize with each other here without fans pestering them, which was a luxury. Both of them tipped graciously in thanks. 

“What’s that on your face?”

Ian reached up to rub his hand along the scruff he’d grown while he was in Scotland. “Forgot my razor when I went to Glasgow and never got around to buying a new one. I kinda like it, though. I’m thinking of keeping it while I’m off the road.”

“I like it, too. Helps hide your ugly face.” Fergus smirked at Ian’s rolled eyes and took a sip of his beer. 

“Fuck you. How’s Osgood?”

“She’s well. Sends her love. Wants you to come for dinner soon.”

Ian grinned. “I’ll have to do just that.”

“She’s taken to Mediterranean food lately.”

“Oh yeah? How’s that going?” 

“It’s been… an adventure. You know Oz. Everything is scientific to her, so she’s approaching it like an experiment.”

Ian chuckled. Fergus and his girlfriend, Petronella Osgood, had met four years ago and been inseparable from the moment they laid eyes on each other, but they couldn’t be more different. Fergus was a gifted musician, highly sought-after for both studio work and on tours, and had spent the better part of three decades living that life. Osgood was a serious, studious scientist who worked for a government agency. She wore thick, horn-rimmed glasses with her hair pulled back in a severe ponytail and her clothing was generally something quite basic and nerdy. By anyone’s reckoning, the two of them should never have even crossed paths. Yet Ian had never known a couple that was more in love.

“I’ll never fucking understand how the two of you ended up together.”

Fergus raised his hand and waggled his fingers in the air. “Magic,” he said in a breathy, mystical voice and the two of them cracked up laughing. Ian had missed his best mate. 

“How about you?” Fergus asked. “Warm any beds in the six weeks since I’ve seen you?”

Unbidden, a pair of topaz eyes and a bright smile swam to the front of his mind. He tamped down the thought of Rose Tyler as quickly as he could and snorted derisively. “Not hardly. Between being in the chair and dodging Missy, I was too fucking busy.”

“She’s after you, too, eh?”

Ian sighed. “I might have known she’d talk to you. What did you tell her?”

“Same thing I’m telling you. I’m willing to do it for the shits and giggles, but it won’t break my heart if we don’t. From what I understand, that’s the response she’s gotten from everyone but you.”

“I don’t understand her fucking motivation,” Ian griped. “She doesn’t need the money. We could all live comfortably off of Gallifrey’s royalties for the rest of our lives without ever having to see each other again, and that would be perfectly fucking fine with me. Present company excluded, of course.”

“Of course,” Fergus agreed amiably. “Maybe she just wants to relive the good times,” he suggested. 

Ian snorted. “I’ve had plenty of good times since Gallifrey broke up. We both have. I don’t need to take on her shit in order to have more.” 

Fergus shrugged. “If you don’t want to do it, it won’t happen. But I’m willing if you are.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“How’s work on your own shit coming?”

Ian swallowed a sip of his lager, then sighed. Fergus was the one person he felt comfortable being honest with about something so personal. 

“Not great. I’m still fucking blocked, although I’ve had a little melody in my head for the last couple of days. I’m hoping that’ll lead to something.”

“Oh? What’s caused the breakthrough?”

Again, Rose’s face swam to the front of Ian’s mind and he debated with himself about telling his best friend. He didn’t get long. 

“Out with it,” Fergus demanded. 

“Out with what?”

“There’s a girl. I know that face.”

“You don’t know shit from shinola,” Ian scoffed and took a swig of his lager, trying to hide his surprise. He really _shouldn’t_ have been surprised. Fergus knew him better than anyone in the world, and had for nearly four decades. 

“Go on, then. Who is she?”

Still stalling, Ian debated just how honest to be with his best mate. Maybe _talking_ about this girl would help get her off his mind…

“Do you remember me telling you about the book store a couple blocks down?”

“I think so. Attached to a coffee shop? You liked the proprietor… Paul or something.”

“Pete. Yeah.”

“Sure. What about him?”

“He died while I was gone. Nice bloke.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. What does that have to do with a girl?”

“His daughter has taken over.” Once again, Rose’s smiling face appeared in his mind, and he wondered why he was telling Fergus about any of this at all. Maybe confession was good for the soul.

Fergus leaned back in his seat, smirking. “You like her.”

Ian snorted. “I hardly know her. But I was rude to her when I met her.”

“That’s not terribly unusual for you.”

That stung a little, but Ian brushed it off. “I mean, unspeakably, unforgivably rude. I didn’t know Pete had died, and I made a crack about her competence running the shop.”

“Ouch.”

“I felt bad about it, so I went back to apologize for it.”

Fergus’ eyes widened. “Now _that’s_ unusual for you. What did she say?”

“She forgave me at once. Hardly fucking thought about it. Then she sat and fucking _chatted_ with me for a half hour or so.”

Across the table, Fergus took a slow sip of his beer. “Pretty girl, is she?”

“Stunning.”

“You’re attracted to her.”

“She’s too young for me.”

“If she’s old enough to be a shop owner, she’s old enough to date.”

Ian shook his head. “No. I need to get this girl out of my head. Except…”

“Except what?”

“Except she invited me back to talk to her again when I left yesterday, and I’ve been wondering if she meant it or was just being polite. Either way, I wrote part of a song today, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s coincidence.”

“Only one way to find out,” Fergus said reasonably. 

“So you think I should go back?”

His best friend shrugged. “Go back. See what happens. You could pursue her and get her out of your system. Worst case scenario, you could end up getting a few songs out of the deal. It can’t hurt.”

Ian disagreed strongly. Something told him that it wouldn’t be as simple as Fergus was making it sound. Of course, Fergus was simply thinking that Ian could sleep with Rose a few times then move on. Maybe he could, but that same something told him he wouldn’t want to. 

He pondered for the millionth time in twenty-four hours if Rose had been serious when she asked him yesterday to come back and visit her. He knew he’d go back - it was just a matter of when. 

The matter effectively settled, Ian changed the subject to music industry gossip, a topic he and Fergus were both well-versed in, and they talked for another two lagers.


	5. Chapter 5

7 March 2016

Ian slung Tardis over his shoulder and plugged in. There was something mentally readying about the act of plugging in, as if he was issuing a challenge, saying ‘bring it’. He’d always preferred to play through a cable and his old Magpie amp, but of course that wasn’t feasible for concerts. For those he had to be free to move around, to put on a show. Fewer acrobatics were expected of him now that he wasn’t twenty-two anymore, but it seemed almost like tradition to play live gigs with his wireless kit. For everything else, he preferred to plug in. It felt comforting to him somehow, being tethered to the ancient Magpie tube amp. And he couldn’t prove it, but he swore it sounded better that way.

He dug a pick out of his pocket and adjusted the knobs on his old girl. Then he started to play, letting the music lead him. It seemed Tardis was in the mood for a little Stevie Ray Vaughan, so Ian started with “Pride and Joy”. He sang along a little, the notes and words coming to him automatically after decades of practice, freeing up his mind to chase his thoughts. 

It had been two days since Rose had invited him back to visit with her. Despite all his contemplation, he _still_ wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that. Had she meant it, or was she simply being polite? He wasn’t sure, but he believed that maybe, just _maybe_ , she might have been genuine when she said she wanted him to come back, that she’d enjoyed their time together. At the very least, he _hoped_ she’d been honest. 

Which left him in a bit of a quandary. Did he go down to the Bad Wolf and run the risk she’d think he was a daft old man? Or did he stay in his little man cave with Tardis, trying (and failing) to write? 

He snapped out of his reverie and noticed that he was playing the original melody he’d stumbled on a few days before - but now, it seemed he was expanding on it instinctively. He liked it so far, it was catchy and pleasant. Definitely needed some jazzing up, could use some tinkering and an effects pedal, but it had tons of potential. He fooled around with it, adding and subtracting notes and chords, coming up with a complimentary chord progression that could potentially serve as a chorus or bridge. He’d just decided to lay down a rough scratch track - just to make sure he didn’t forget - when it happened.

A couplet of lyrics sprung to mind, and they perfectly fit the embryonic song he was playing. 

Excitement threatened to flood him, but he tamped it down viciously. There wasn’t time to get ahead of himself and start patting himself on the back… if he didn’t act quickly, he could lose everything he’d gained in the last few minutes. Right. First things first, he had to record what he had. He bent over to his computer, pulled up ProTools, and played the partial song through twice to record it. He recited the lyrics over and over in his head as he did, singing them to himself, seeing if they would grow. Once he was done, he saved the recording and dashed across the room, not bothering to take Tardis off, grabbing a pen and paper. 

He jotted down the lyrics, smiling a bit, finally letting himself feel relief and excitement. What he’d done was only a tiny amount, but it was _something_. It was _progress_ , and he was pleased with it - with himself. 

Taking Tardis off, he looked down at what he’d written and paused. He’d not taken the time to analyze what his brain had spit out before, but now he did. 

_I don’t know whether to go or stay_   
_My mind is a cloud of uncertainty_   
_I’ve no idea what I’m imagining_   
_Can’t help but wonder if you’re the key_

He didn’t need to be any sort of genius to sort what _that_ was about. For the first time in twenty-five years, he’d just written lyrics about a girl. Not any girl - Rose. 

Groaning, he slapped his forehead, then dragged his hand down his face a little, parting his fingers to look at the words he’d just written. Yep. Still there. They hadn’t changed. 

“Fuck.”

As if on cue, his mobile rang. Ian swore again, crossing the room to pick it up. He rolled his eyes at the name on the caller ID, knowing how _this_ conversation was going to go, then tapped the green button on his phone’s screen to answer the call. 

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Good morning to you, too, Doctor,” Clara said on the other end of the line. “That was almost chipper for you.”

Ian looked over at the sheet of paper containing the words he’d written about a young woman. “Yeah, well, you know me.”

“That I do.”

“I was busy,” he snapped, rude and too irritable to care. 

“I don’t doubt that you were too busy for me. You usually are,” she remarked dryly. 

“I told you I’d call you.”

“That was three weeks ago. In Glasgow.”

He felt a brief stab of remorse. Wouldn’t do to show that, though. Look where it got him last time. He’d shown contrition to a woman and now he was writing fucking lyrics about her. “I’ve been busy.”

“What were you working on?” 

“New song.”

“Really?” Clara sounded excited. “How’s it going? Got your mojo back?”

“Don’t call it fucking ‘mojo’, and it goes. Now what the fuck do you want? Spit it out, let’s get it over with.”

Clara’s voice got a bit more somber. “You know what I’m calling about. Missy rang again.”

He plopped onto his couch, laying one arm across the back. “Answer’s still no.”

“Doctor --”

“I’m not fucking doing it, alright?”

“Why not?”

“You know why the fuck not.”

“Missy?”

“Bang on.”

She heaved a deep sigh. “Doctor…”

“ _No_ , Clara. There’s no fucking way in hell I’m getting into an enclosed space with that fucking satanic harridan for months.”

“What will it take? Tell me.”

He’d wondered that himself. The idea wasn’t entirely unappealing, and if it wasn’t for his ‘frenemy’ status with Missy, he’d be happy to reunite for a tour. But as it was…

“Find another keyboardist for Gallifrey. Shouldn’t be hard to replace her.”

Clara’s voice took on an edge. “You need this, Doctor.”

“No, I fucking don’t. Things are good.” He crossed his legs as if to emphasize this point to no one. 

“You need the exposure.” 

“Don’t need exposure to work in the fucking studio.”

Her voice was softer now. “That’s not where your heart lies and we both know it. You’re a creator. You were born to create.”

Ian clenched his teeth almost painfully. It was true - but then, Clara was rarely wrong. It was irritating as fuck.

“I just told you,” he said in a low voice. “I’m writing a fucking song.”

“Are you _feeling_ it, though? The mojo?”

“Don’t fucking call it that. That’s stupid.”

“Are you?”

He scrubbed his face with his free hand, then peeked over at the notepad. “I feel like I’m on the brink,” he told her honestly. “Like maybe if I play my cards right, I’m about to be back in the game.”

Her smile was almost audible. Not quite, but he still knew it was there. “Good.”

Ian’s tone was sharp again. “In the meantime, you can tell a Gallifrey reunion tour to go fuck itself. I’m not participating.”

“They’re not going to let up,” she warned. 

“And I’m not going to give in. They’ll get the fucking idea eventually.”

“Alright,” she agreed. “On to other things. You have a few people wanting to get you into the chair pretty soon.”

“Who and when?”

“Nestene Consciousness wants you next month here in town. The Courtesans, out of France, want you in Paris sometime later. They’re still in pre-production, but they wanted to book you in early.”

Ian thought for a moment. There were several reasons to take the gigs. The money would be good - Nestene Consciousness was a household name and even though the Courtesans were up and coming, they had generated enough buzz to have a large production budget. He’d never worked with either, but both were signed to his label, Rassilon Records, so they’d have good backing. 

And last but definitely not least, frankly, he’d be bored out of his tits with nothing to do around here. 

Except go to the Bad Wolf, that is.

He shook that thought off as quickly as was warranted. “They know my policy, yeah? How I work? When I’m in the chair, we fucking work. No partying, and it’s not done until I say it’s done. If they don’t like it, I walk.”

Clara chuckled. “Trust me, Doctor. Your legend as the Oncoming Storm in the studio stretches far and wide.”

He smirked. “As long as they agree to my contract terms - to play by my rules.”

“They will.”

“Go ahead and book both of them.”

“What about --”

“Nothing else. I’m actually starting to feel fucking creative. I don’t want to be stuck on someone else’s shit when it starts to flow.”

“Fair enough. Although I feel like I should mention…”

“Oh, what _now_?”

“Your flow coming back could be the best thing that ever happened to you.”

“You think I don’t fucking know that?”

Clara was undeterred. “If you cut an album, you’ll have a perfectly legitimate reason to turn down the reunion tour.”

“Exactly,” he agreed. “But we’re not having a fucking repeat of _Nightmare in Silver_. I’m not going to half-ass _this_ album. There will be no throwing shit at the wall and seeing what sticks this time. If it doesn’t meet my standards, it doesn’t see the light of fucking day. In fact, I may produce myself.”

“That would be good. You have to put an album out in the next two years to satisfy your contract, you know.”

He looked over at the pad he’d written the lyrics on. “I’m aware.” The words he’d just written slid through his mind and he cleared his throat to dismiss them. “Is that all?”

“For now,” she answered cheerfully.

“Fantastic. Now go away, Clara.”

“I’ll ring you you later. Bye!”

The line went dead and Ian looked around his lounge for a minute, his thoughts bobbing and weaving. Unable to make any sense of them, he got to his feet, grabbed his coat and started for the door. He had a suspicion… and it was past time for a cup of coffee.

~*~O~*~

Rose was with a customer when Ian entered the shop and she wasn’t able to see him, but she still knew he was there. She couldn’t have said _how_ she knew; had she been more prone to whimsy, she’d have said she sensed him. That was utterly ridiculous, of course - how could one person _sense_ another? She couldn’t explain what was banging around in that silly old brain of hers, and she decided not to try. He was there and she was glad.

She didn’t see him until he made his way up to the magazine rack. She slid the books she’d just rung up into a bag and looked over at Ian properly while the woman she was helping dug in her wallet. He wasn’t looking at her, he was thumbing through a magazine.

He’d taken his Ray-Bans off and had them hanging on the collar of his t-shirt, just like last time. The shirt looked well worn and seemed to have the name of some type of fundraiser or event on it. Rose couldn’t tell, exactly, because he was at a bit of an angle and wearing a blazer overtop it, to boot. Her eyes darted down to his feet and she wondered where he lived - it must be quite close. Boots like those weren’t made for walking any type of distance. He still sported a scruffy beard on his face and she was curious whether that was by design or sprang from disinterest. 

Either way, she liked the effect. 

Before she could chastise herself, the woman across the counter cleared her throat and Rose snapped back to attention, plastering on a smile, taking her money and giving her the bag. The woman gave her a mock-stern look with a hint of a knowing smile that made Rose squirm a bit for a couple of reasons. Once the lady was gone, she looked back over at Ian, who had his back to her now.

He’d come back. She’d wondered whether he would or not. She’d definitely wondered more than she _should_ have. It shouldn’t matter whether this grumpy man came back to her shop. She shouldn’t care. But she _had_ cared, and that fact frustrated her to no end. It left her feeling unsettled. Rose honestly didn’t have time to worry about anyone other than herself. In truth, she didn’t even have time to worry about herself. The shop was more than enough worry. 

But Ian had come back. He was here, now, in her shop, flipping through a red top. 

Well, in that case, she should probably go talk to him. She took a minute to straighten her shoulders and slide her hands down her denim-clad legs, like she was smoothing a skirt. She threw her hair back, smiled brightly, and started towards him. 

“Hi, there!”

He put the magazine down when she spoke and turned towards her, but didn’t seem surprised to see her. “Hello.”

Rose wasn’t sure what to say next, and it seemed he was equally at a loss. 

“I’m glad you came back,” she blurted, then immediately felt herself blush.

His eyes widened for a second, then his lip quirked up on one side. “You are?” She nodded and his smile grew. 

She’d seen it before, but somehow it was different when he smiled today. She couldn’t put her finger on what was different, but something was. His smile seemed brighter somehow. It changed his entire face subtly and made it lighter. Softer. Even more handsome.

_Stop it, Rose!_

“I got some medieval history books in that I thought you might like.”

“I do enjoy medieval history, but I enjoy multiple other topics as well.”

“Space?” 

“Among other things,” he grinned. 

“Coffee?”

He looked at her a little oddly. “It’s not a subject that I’ve explored in depth…”

“No, I mean, would you like to have one with me?”

Ian regarded her for a second, looking like he was maybe sizing her up, then his face softened into a smile.

“That would be nice, Rose Tyler. What can I get you?”

“I… I don’t…” she stammered, trying to think of something to say. She hadn’t intended for him to pick up the tab. She’d been planning to buy her own drink - it had never crossed her mind to ask him to pay.

Apparently she was taking too long to think, because Ian raised his eyebrows at her. 

“Jack and Yan know what I like. Tell them to put it on my tab.”

“I’ll be right back, then,” he told her.

Without thinking much about it, Rose followed him through the archway between the Bad Wolf and Torchwood and pulled out a chair at the table that sat right there so she’d be able to see the shop while they had coffee and talked. 

She’d been single for so long - first with uni and then trying to build a career - that she’d entirely forgotten what it was like to talk to a bloke socially. He wasn’t anything like the type of guy she’d usually date - if she dated anymore. She tended to gravitate towards what her mum had always called ‘pretty boys’. Ian Docherty... well, he wasn’t a bit pretty, and he was _at least_ twice her age. Probably more, if his hair gave any indication. He wasn’t her type.

But to be fair, she barely knew what her type _was_ anymore. She _did_ know that it had never been grouchy older blokes. 

He was just a nice man that she’d happened to talk to more in depth because he’d had a bad day and taken it out on her. He’d shown her kindness by apologizing, and she’d responded. She’d enjoyed his company. He was just a nice bloke.

“You’re in my spot,” came a voice from behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder to see him taking the last couple of steps to join her at the table. She caught a whiff of his scent as he passed: clean and a little spicy with something she couldn’t quite identify. It was terribly appealing. He set the coffees down, grinning at her and presumably his little joke. 

Rose felt a little swoop in her belly at the sight of his smile, but didn’t bother to question it.

 _He’s nothing special_ , she reminded herself, even as she grinned back at him.

~*~O~*~

“So you’re not from London, I take it?”

He swallowed his coffee and looked up at her, only to find her tongue in the corner of her mouth. His eyes trained on it immediately. 

“What gave it away?” he asked dryly. Rose’s laugh was tinkling and he grinned in response. “I’m from Glasgow, originally,” he offered. “In fact, I only settled in London permanently five years ago.”

“Is that why you were in Glasgow a few weeks ago? Family?”

Ian shook his head. “No. Business. I had work there.”

“What do you do for work?”

“Hmm?”

“You have a job, right? One that lets you be a prat to the local shopgirl in the middle of the day?”

He gave her a playful scowl for the mention of his previous behavior but internally, his mind spun. He didn’t want to tell her the complete truth, afraid she might look at him differently. It was nice, just being a regular bloke. 

But he found that he didn’t want to lie to her, either. With just about anyone else who didn’t know him or what he did, he’d have told them a story off the top of his head to placate them, then sent them on their way. He could have said he was a fucking zookeeper, and that would have been fine. But with Rose… Something about her was different, he could sense it, and he didn’t think he could lie to her. She was a better, more genuine person than he was used to dealing with. It made him want to be better and more genuine for her. He wanted her to like him.

_What the fuck is wrong with you?_

Part of the truth, then. He wouldn’t lie, but he wouldn’t tell her everything. He’d keep the fact that he was the Doctor to himself for now. He’d have to tell her the whole truth eventually, but today was not that day.

“I’m in the music industry,” he said with as much nonchalance as he could muster. “I make and produce records.”

Rose looked impressed. “Hit records?”

He shrugged. “Have done.” _Understatement_.

“Wow.” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, smiling a little. “Imagine that. Little insignificant shopgirl like me hanging out with a big, important producer.”

Ian scoffed. “I’m hardly important.”

“You are if you’re producing hit records.”

He didn’t have anything to say to that, so he took a sip and changed the subject. “What about you? What did you do before you were Rose Tyler, business owner?”

Her smile was a little sad. “I was a graphic designer. Well,” she amended, “I use that term loosely. That’s what my degree is in and what the firm I worked for did. I was just doing the scut work. Glorified photoshop edits.” 

“Were you any good?”

Rose shrugged. “I got by. But it was a dead-end job. Mum and Dad were both encouraging me to look for another when…” She looked away for a second, and he knew how that sentence was going to end. She sniffed and turned back, her smile bright and sunny but not quite touching her eyes. “So I guess the timing was good, if nothing else.”

Ian was completely at a loss, with no idea what to say to her. He turned his cup of coffee around in his hands just to have something to do, and the sleeve slipped off and landed on the table. He reached to raise it into place again, but noticed some writing under where the sleeve had been. 

_Rose writes poetry. -J_

He took a moment to digest this new information. It was nice to have a little personal knowledge of her, as he’d had none before, really. She’d not seemed to be keeping herself from him or anything, she’d just seemed more interested in other, more neutral topics - or him. He wondered how hard it would be to get her to volunteer the information, but mentally thanked Jack for giving it to him. 

The implications of _that_ could be dwelt upon later.

“So, what do you like to do, then?” he asked. “What does Rose Tyler enjoy?”

“Don’t have time to enjoy much, really. Not since Dad died.”

“There’s nothing at all you enjoy?” He couldn’t help but feel a little hurt - he certainly enjoyed their time together.

“Of course there is,” she scoffed in a ‘don’t be daft’ tone. “I just have to sneak time for the things I like. Like now.”

She flushed a little, but Ian could have punched the air. 

“Well then, what do you make time for? Besides me, of course,” he said in an attempt at flirting, fighting the instinct to grimace in embarrassment. He hadn’t done this in fucking years and to say he was rusty was an understatement. But her answering grin made him relax a little. 

“Besides you...” Her smile got bigger and she looked down at her hands. “I like to read, I like the occasional night out with friends. Haven’t had one of those in a while, not since December,” she chuckled. “All my friends are back in Peckham. But, you know. That sort of thing.”

Sensing a possible entry, Ian plowed ahead. “What kind of books do you read?”

“Nothing as intellectual as what _you_ read. I’m not quite that clever.”

“Of course you are,” he disagreed, frowning.

Rose laughed. “Not as clever as you and my dad.”

Ian shook his head. “Just because you’re interested in different things doesn’t mean you’re not clever. Whoever told you that is a fucking moron.”

“No one ever told me that,” she defended. “It’s just the impression that I’ve always gotten. The things I’ve always been interested in are… soft.”

“Well, your impression was fucking wrong. And there’s nothing at all wrong with ‘soft’.” Fighting away the wayward thoughts _that_ inspired, he went on. He still wanted her to reveal her love of poetry so he could explore it a bit. “What _does_ interest you?”

“I like novels, mostly. It’s nice to get swept up in other people’s lives and forget mine for a while, you know? I also like poetry.”

_There we go._

“What type of poetry?”

“Stuff you’d probably dismiss as romantic drivel,” she laughed, her cheeks endearingly pink. “But I’m a girl, so I like all that sappy stuff. In fact, it was almost a defense mechanism at uni. I was in a male-dominated field, doing my best to keep up with the boys. Reading and writing sonnets and poems about love made me feel more feminine in a time when I sorely needed it.” 

Not wanting to know the answer, he asked, “Your boyfriend helped with that, I presume?”

Rose threw her head back and laughed. Ian was nonplussed for a moment, then just took advantage of the opportunity to appreciate her slender neck. Her smile hadn’t dimmed when she lowered her head to face him. 

“Boyfriend. That’s funny. I haven’t had a boyfriend in many years.”

“Girlfriend, then?” he asked, hoping he was wrong.

She shook her head. “No, I prefer boys. Well, men. But I haven’t dated _anyone_ in a long time. Not since I was nineteen.”

Ian was stunned and must have looked it, because Rose giggled. He ignored her. “Nineteen?” She nodded, biting her lip. “You’re barely older than that now, though!”

She made a face - half exasperated, half pleased. “I’m twenty-six, but thanks for that.”

His mind reeled a bit. She was twenty-six, which was older than he’d thought. Turned out he wasn’t twice her age, after all. 

...Barely, but he’d take it.

“Don’t you know you should never ask a lady her age?” she protested belatedly, her tongue back at the corner of her mouth.

“I didn’t --”

“I’m only teasing,” Rose laughed, reaching across the table to push his arm playfully. He smiled, relieved. “How about you, then?” she asked. “How old are _you_?”

“Don’t you know you should never ask a lady her age?” he echoed with one eyebrow and the corner of his mouth raised. 

Rose laughed - just as he’d hoped - and the sound was contagious. He found himself laughing, too. 

“No, really,” she said a minute later when her laugh had faded into a smile. “How old are you?”

He braced himself for whatever was coming. “I’m forty-six.”

“Really?” He nodded. “I thought you were older.”

“It’s the hair,” he pointed to his greying hair. “And the lines on my face. I aged a bit more quickly than my peers - genetics, I suppose. I assure you, though, I’m only forty-six. I’ll be forty-seven next month, on the fourteenth.”

Rose was grinning at him and giving him a considering look. “Good to know.”

He took a long swallow of his coffee.


	6. Chapter 6

9 March 2016

Ian wasn’t entirely sure he was doing the right thing as he walked down the pavement towards the Bad Wolf, but he was powerless to stop himself. He’d had such a lovely time chatting with her two days before, and they’d parted with her asking him again if he’d come back soon. He’d left her shop feeling lighter than when he went in, much more at peace with the world at large than usual. For the rest of the evening and all the next day, she’d pop into his mind at odd times, making him smile, and while he knew he should be annoyed by that, he couldn’t be. 

He hadn’t labored quite as hard over whether or not she’d meant it when she invited him back this time. Instead, he’d worried over how long he should wait before he returned. How soon was too soon? The next day was right out, he knew, but what about every other day? Was that too much? Would it make him seem too eager? Perhaps he should visit every third day, leaving a nice, comfy, two-day cushion between his visits. Yes, he’d decided, that’s what he should do. Every three days seemed like a reasonable time frame to him. 

And it probably _was_ a reasonable time frame, but by noon on the second day, he was bargaining with himself, coming up with reasons he should go ahead and make his visits _slightly_ more regular. She was only a couple of blocks away and the temptation to see her, to talk to her, was proving to be too great.

He liked to think he was fairly astute, so if he was being a bother, he’d be able to pick up on that, right? Of course he would. On top of that, he’d expanded the song he’d been working on to include an entire verse and part of a chorus - all in the forty-eight hours since he’d seen her. If she was that good for his productivity, shouldn’t he keep doing what he was doing? Of course he should. He chose to ignore the broader implication there, the _why_ she was so good for productivity. 

But honestly, the biggest reason he should go visit her was because he felt _good_ when he was around her. Something about her brightened him. He barely knew her, but he _did_ know he wanted to spend more time with her. 

“Hi!” he heard from his left when he entered the shop, and turned to see Rose smiling at him, a stack of magazines in her arm. 

“Hi, there,” he smiled back, feeling some of the tension he’d felt drain out of him just at the sight of her. 

“I almost didn’t recognize you, there.” He gave her a quizzical look and she pointed to her face. “You’re wearing specs.”

“Oh! Yes. I didn’t bother with my contacts this morning. I rarely do on dreary days, like today.”

“Yes, it certainly is dreary,” Rose agreed, making a little moue and looking out the large windows at the front of the store. 

Ian decided at once that he didn’t like seeing her anything other than happy, so he said the first thing that sprang to mind. “Can I interest you in a coffee? Looks like you’ve been working hard, could use a break.”

She turned back to him with a huge, sunny smile and he felt like he could take flight. “I’d love a break. Would you mind ordering for me? I need to shelve these magazines first. Just tell Jack to put it on my tab, and I’ll meet you at our regular table.”

Ian nodded and told her he’d see her in a minute. 

Predictably, when Ian ordered a coffee for himself and Rose, Jack smirked a little. 

“More coffee with Rosie?”

“Shut it, Harkness.”

Jack gave an exaggerated shrug. “I’m not saying anything.”

“Good.”

The other man smirked again when Ian took the coffees and went to meet Rose. She was already at the table and, hoping to be funny, he leaned over and said, “You’re in my spot.”

Rose grinned up at him and he felt like a hero when he slid into the seat across from her, handing her her coffee. She thanked him and took a sip, then sighed. 

“Something wrong?”

“No, not really. Just work. I’m not catching on as quickly as I’d like.”

“Oh?”

“No worries, though,” she hedged, seeming to brush the concern away. “I’ll get the hang of it. I’m just slow and impatient.”

“Cut yourself a little slack,” he told her, fighting back the urge to cover her hand with his. He curled it around his coffee, instead. “This is fucking hard. Most people couldn’t do what you’re doing, and certainly not with a smile on their face. I’m in awe of you.”

She blinked at him for a minute, then her face bloomed into a bright smile. “Thank you, Ian. That was very comforting. Exactly what I needed to hear.”

“You’re welcome,” he told her, a little shell-shocked. “I have to tell you, I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me before.”

“What? That you told them exactly what they needed to hear?”

“No, I get accused of that rather often. I meant the bit about me being comforting.”

She shrugged, pulling her coffee over to her. “It’s true. Maybe you have talents you didn’t know you had, Mr. Docherty.”

Her tongue came to the corner of her mouth and she smirked up at him from beneath her lashes. He thought his heart may stop. “Apparently so. I’m glad to know I can be helpful in some small way.”

Suddenly, Rose flushed to the roots of her hair. “You’d tell me if I were being presumptuous, wouldn’t you? You’re a busy man, I know you have absolutely no interest in the goings-on of my little shop. I just got swept up in the moment, forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” he told her honestly. “I’d love to help any way I can, but don’t know that I’d be able to do much of anything. Running a bookstore isn’t exactly in my wheelhouse.”

“Mine either,” Rose laughed, “but I’m figuring it out as I go along. It’s alright, though. I would just appreciate a sounding board, if you’re willing to be one.”

He was willing to be much more than just that, if she’d let him. 

“Absolutely, Rose Tyler. Whatever you need.”

Her tongue came to the corner of her mouth and he expected he was about to get teased. “So! You’ve been in here every other day so far… I was never great in maths, but if I follow the pattern, that would suggest you’ll be coming back on Friday?”

Ian’s heart thudded in his chest. “Why? Are you ready to be rid of me now?”

She giggled. “No, not at all. Just trying to plan ahead.”

“I’ve no plans for Friday afternoon. I’d love to come by and have coffee with you, if you’d like that.”

“Yeah,” she grinned, her tongue back around her teeth. “I’d like that.”

~*~O~*~

23 March 2016

The predictions that Rose would catch on to running the shop sooner rather than later had not come true thus far. Her dad had never been the most organized man in the world, had always been a bit chaotic, really, and that was absolutely _not_ helping Rose step into his shoes now, trying to learn the ropes as a small business owner. It appeared that he’d done most of his own bookkeeping, and it was similarly in a snarl as best she could tell, but she hadn’t taken any accounting in uni, so she wasn’t sure what she was looking at, either. What she _did_ know was that the money she was taking in wasn’t as much as the money she was paying out, and that was getting to be a real problem. To help stem the tide, she’d cut her own salary in half and hired a bookkeeper to sort everything out. 

It was worrisome, the thought that the shop was floundering under her care, but she did her best to keep her chin up. She was taking proactive steps to make things better and all she could do was all she could do. It would get better, she was sure of it. 

Ian and her time with him were a godsend. He had been coming in on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays like clockwork for the last two weeks. He always arrived at around the same time, and Rose had come to really look forward to his visits and the little routine they’d established between them, always doing her best to make sure her schedule would be clear while he was there so she’d be as free as possible to sit with him. The time that they spent talking had become precious to her, and she guarded it jealously. He was a bit reticent about himself, but she’d managed to learn a fair amount about him. He was an only child and his parents had died when he was in his twenties, which left him with no family, save a best friend he’d had for thirty years. He’d quit university to pursue his career in music, and had been producing records for twenty years. Rose, in turn, felt like she’d told him her entire life story. 

Today was Wednesday, which meant that Ian would be in around two for coffee and conversation. She finished checking in the new inventory a little before the appointed hour, doing her best to convince herself that her mistakes weren’t the end of the world and telling herself she could shelve it all later. The bell over the door dinged and she looked up hopefully, a smile already on her face, and was not disappointed when she saw Ian pulling his sunglasses off and hooking them on his shirt. He turned toward the counter and spotted her; she waved at him. He threw her a bright grin, and Rose bit the inside of her lip and tried to ignore - and not analyze - the thrill that shot through her. 

“Afternoon, Ms. Tyler,” he greeted her, giving her a little bow, excessively and ridiculously formal. 

“Mr. Docherty,” she acknowledged him, inclining her head properly, then breaking the moment by giggling. “How are you, Ian?”

“Fucking splendid. You?”

_Better now._

“Not bad.”

“That’s good. How’s the Bad Wolf? Looks as if you’re keeping everything more or less in its place.”

“Alright, I suppose,” she lied. 

Ian didn’t buy it. “‘Alright, you suppose’?”

Rose sighed and decided to ease her mind of one of her growing burdens. “I mucked up the order from one of the suppliers and accidentally over-ordered on a few titles by, like, fifty books each. I have no idea how I did it, but I’ve got copies running out of my ears. Not sure what I’m going to do with them but I can’t send them back. The distributor won’t take them.”

“Can you discount them?”

She nodded. “That’s probably what I’ll have to do. At this point, I’d gladly sell them at cost, just to be rid of them. But it would be ideal to get my money for them.”

Ian looked thoughtful, and Rose felt bad for boring him with her work troubles. She tossed her head to clear it and get her hair behind her shoulders, then smiled at him, deciding they should get back to their little routine. 

“Coffee?” she asked brightly, as if she didn’t have a care in the world. 

His expression cleared. “Yeah,” he said, nodding. “That’d be good. You want your usual?”

“Just put it on my tab, please.”

Ian nodded then went off towards the coffee shop while Rose locked the register and did the couple of little things she always did before she sat down with him. Donna would be in in a few minutes and she wouldn’t have to worry, but for the meantime she’d make things secure. 

Once she was done she made her way into Torchwood, taking her usual seat by the archway so she could see into the bookshop, grinning a little at what she knew Ian was going to say when he showed up. Sure enough, she’d only been sitting there a minute when she heard, “You’re in my spot.” She turned towards Ian just in time for him to set her coffee down in front of her. She bit her lip on a smile, enjoying their little inside joke, and Ian took the seat that had become his. Rose wrapped her cold hands around the coffee, warming them. As surreptitiously as possible, she slid the sleeve down to see what little nugget of wisdom Jack had left for her today. 

She’d been getting notes about Ian scrawled on her cup and hidden in plain sight almost since the first day, but when she asked Jack just to _tell_ her what he knew, he stonewalled her. She cut her eyes over at him now, noting that he was watching them but pretending not to. A small, sardonic laugh bubbled out of her. 

“Something wrong?”

Rose shook her head, smiling. “Nothing at all.”

Ian just gave a little shrug as if to say ‘okay’, then blew on his coffee for a minute. Once he deemed it safe, he took a sip - then hissed in pain. 

“Too hot?”

“Yeah. Burned my lip.”

_Want me to kiss it better?_

_Whoa...where the hell did THAT come from?_

“You could have a party,” Ian suggested, and Rose’s brow knit in confusion.

“I could what?”

“You could have a party. For the extra books you have. Say they’re space books or whatever. You could decorate with, I don’t know, stars and moons and rocketships and shit, then advertise in the paper and online. It could help get rid of the books and drum up some business, to boot.”

Rose just stared at him, awestruck. The idea was brilliant, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever have thought of it in a million years. 

“You’re brilliant,” she praised. 

“It was just a thought,” he muttered, looking down at his coffee.

“No, I’m serious, it's brilliant,” she enthused, beaming. “You’re my hero.”

He pursed his lips at her playfully and she winked at him, putting her tongue between her teeth. Ian’s eyes widened, and Rose hurriedly looked down at her hands, her smile fading. 

_What are you doing? Are you actually flirting?_

Mortified, and with her mind spinning, she didn’t look up at him for a minute. She hadn’t actively flirted in years, but now here she was with Ian, this man more than twenty years her senior, and she was practically batting her lashes at him. It was insane! He was a producer of hit records. Hell, he probably went to the Brit awards and maybe even the Grammys. Now here she was, just some shopgirl out of Peckham, flirting - as if _she_ could ever catch his eye. 

Wait. Did she _want_ to catch his eye?

She had the strangest feeling that she did.

After what seemed like an eternity, she found her voice and spoke, using what Jack had written on her cup. “I hear you play guitar.”

Ian froze, looking far more panicked than he had when she’d winked at him. Her eyes narrowed a bit in confusion - why would that be such a big deal?

“Who told you that?” he demanded.

“Jack did.” She didn’t mention her coffee cup. “Are you alright?”

He seemed to recover himself. “Yes, I’m fine. Perfectly fine. Just surprised, is all. Didn’t know Jack knew that. But yes, I play guitar.”

“That’s really cool,” she said honestly, trying to picture him with a guitar and finding it relatively easy… and more than a little appealing. 

_Stop it!_

“Do you play anything else?”

Ian nodded, swallowing his coffee, still looking a bit uncomfortable. “A few things.”

She raised an eyebrow. “A few?”

“Drums, bass, piano.”

“Oh wow,” Rose said with wide eyes. “You’re practically the whole band.”

“It’s handy as a producer. If someone is fucking up or fucking around, I can sit in for just about anyone in any position and lay down a dummy track until they get their shit together. Happens more than you might think.”

She looked him up and down, assessing. “You must be really talented.”

“I do alright.”

_Oh, I just bet you do._

Rose clenched her teeth, frustrated with her own mind. She did _not_ have a crush on Ian Docherty. Could not happen. 

“I’d love to hear you play sometime,” she said, then immediately felt shy, afraid she’d gone too far.

Ian had an odd look on his face. “You would?”

She nodded. “I rarely get to hear live music, but I always enjoyed it when I did. It would be even better hearing someone I know, I think.”

His blue eyes were unreadable when he looked at her. Rose had the feeling she was getting lost in them before he finally looked away. 

“Unfortunately, I haven’t played in a band in many years. It’s just me, on my own.”

“There’s me,” she offered without thinking, then was surprised to find she didn’t want to take the words back.

_Oh, hell, Rose._

He had that same expression on his face he’d had before. If she had to categorize it, she’d say it looked like disbelief, fear and… longing? No. That simply wasn’t possible. A trick of the light, surely. 

He shook it off, and neither of them acknowledged the charged moment. 

“I’ll be away,” he began, looking down at his hands, “starting next Wednesday. I’ll still be in town, but I’ll be in the studio and won’t be able to come have coffee with you during the day.”

Rose felt a stab of bitter disappointment, but tried to push it back down. Of course this wasn’t going to last forever. It was never meant to.

“That’s okay,” she said with false brightness. “Everybody’s gotta work, right?”

“I’ll be back,” he reassured her, and his speech was almost pressured. “I’ll only be in the chair for three weeks, then I’ll be back.” He looked uncertain, and she decided she didn’t like that look on him. “That is, if you want me --”

“Yes.” She cut him off, her smile genuine now. He smiled back and she felt like she was blooming inside.

_Oh, no._

“I’m debating about shaving,” he said, reaching up to rub the scruff on his right cheek. “Nobody’s ever seen me like this before, it would definitely be a departure. What do you think?”

_You’re gorgeous._

“I - I don’t know,” she stammered, then recovered. “I don’t have much experience with beards. Is it scratchy?”

“Nah. It’s much softer than it looks.”

“Let me be the judge of that.” 

Without thinking, Rose leaned forward and put her hand on his cheek. The moment they touched, she felt her heart trip over itself and a riot of butterflies take flight in her stomach. She had no idea if her eyes widened, but she knew that his never left hers when she slid her thumb over his cheekbone, and the desire to kiss him almost overwhelmed her.

_Oh, NO._


	7. Chapter 7

28 March 2016

Ian and Rose sat at the table they’d claimed as their own, laughing and sipping their coffee. Conversation had become easy for them over the past several weeks, and he found himself dreading the upcoming time he would be spending in the studio. It wasn’t that the work was bad - he enjoyed engineering and producing. The money was fantastic. He was damned good at what he did. Everything about the job itself was great, and he had no complaints. 

But it meant that he’d go for at least two weeks without seeing Rose, more likely the whole three weeks that he was contracted for. 

That really shouldn’t be a big deal. He’d gotten by for almost forty-seven years as a bachelor, and he’d had a hell of a good time. It wasn’t as if sitting in this coffee shop with this young woman was the most exciting thing to happen to him in years. 

But the truth was, being around Rose _was_ the most exciting thing to happen to him in years. He felt a kind of thrill whenever their eyes met. His breath caught every time she turned _that_ smile on him. And when she’d put her soft little hand on his face last week… well, he’d genuinely worried about the state of his heart for a minute. 

Besides that, the muse had let up her stranglehold on his creativity since he’d been spending time with her. He’d written music and lyrics for four songs - all heavily influenced by her. He was pleased with them, and more lyrics came to him all the time. Ian couldn’t help but think it was because of Rose, that she _was_ the key. 

That was frankly dangerous. He’d gotten caught up in a woman before - more than once - and it hadn’t ended well. It would be best for Ian to look at the next three weeks as a chance to flush her out of his system. It simply wouldn’t do for him to grow dependent on spending time with this woman, who almost certainly saw him as a… father figure or something. 

But damned if it didn’t feel like he was already growing dependent. And that was utterly terrifying. 

“Hello… Earth to Ian…”

He was pulled out of his reverie to see Rose grinning at him, tongue between her teeth. As always, his breathing hitched a little. 

“You alright there?” she asked.

Ian nodded. “Fine, I’m fine. Was just woolgathering.”

She gave him a sideways grin and he hoped she wouldn’t press the issue. He didn't want to lie to her, but he _absolutely_ didn’t want to tell her that he’d been daydreaming about _her_. Thankfully, she let it go, asking something unrelated. 

“What’s your go-to dinner?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Sorry, I worded that funny. What’s your favorite thing to have for dinner?”

“That’s an odd fucking question.”

“I know,” she said brightly. “Just making conversation.”

“I don’t know,” he pondered. “I’m a bachelor. There isn’t much I _won't_ eat.”

Rose blushed prettily and although he appreciated the effect, he wondered why. Then his words returned to him and he felt like slapping his forehead. 

“I’m sorry,” he started. “I didn’t mean… that came out wrong.”

“It’s fine,” she assured him. “You were saying?”

He grabbed the reprieve with both hands, but it took him a second to pick up the thread of conversation they’d been in. Once he did, he answered her. “It depends on what I’m in the mood for, I suppose. I like Chinese, I like Thai, I like Italian. I’m Scottish, so I’m bound by honor to say that I like haggis.” Rose made a face and he smirked. “Really, though, it’s hard to beat the local chippie.”

Rose’s eyes got wide with excitement. “Bruce’s? Two blocks from here?”

“That’s the one.” It felt like he’d done something very right by accident, and he grinned. 

“I eat there more than I should,” she admitted. “But honestly, their club sandwich is the best I’ve ever had. And that’s not even touching their fish and chips.”

Ian filed this information away, not bothering to ask himself why he was doing so. He really needed to get this girl out of his head. The next few weeks were going to be a blessing, he knew. 

Rose cocked her head to one side, a questioning look on her face, her eyes towards the ceiling as she focused on the music streaming out of the overhead speakers. “Do you hear that?”

He heard it perfectly, but didn’t want _her_ to. He opened his mouth, but Rose was already on her feet. She went to the corner of the counter, said something to Ianto that Ian couldn’t hear, and got a small smile in return. Apparently satisfied, she came back to the table just as the music’s volume rose just a bit. 

“Can you hear it now?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, desperately wishing she’d change the subject. 

“Ianto keeps it on the 90’s station when he’s here, and I like the music. This song is good. What’s the name of the band again? It’s on the tip of my tongue…”

“Gallifrey,” he answered automatically, just as his much-younger-self ripped into a guitar solo on the overhead speakers.

“That’s right, Gallifrey,” she agreed, grinning. “Both my parents were fans. Heard them a lot in the car when I was younger.”

_Oh, shit._

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh. I haven’t heard this one in a while. I like it, though.”

Ian didn’t answer, just gave a little nod, then his own voice came over the speakers, singing. 

“Wonder whatever happened to them?” she mused, seemingly rhetorically. 

Yes. He _really_ needed to spend the next few weeks getting one Rose Tyler out of his system.

~*~O~*~

Rose unlocked the door to her flat and flipped the light on. It had been a mixed bag of a day; she’d screwed up the order last week and now had scads of children’s books that still needed to be dealt with. On the other hand, she’d had more customers today and made more sales, so it was impossible to think of the day as a total loss - especially when she’d spent part of the day with Ian. 

She wondered suddenly what her dad would think of Ian. The two of them had been something like friends, she knew, but Rose couldn’t help but wonder how that would affect her dad’s opinion about her having coffee with Ian three times a week. She suspected that Pete would probably caution her against getting too attached to the older man - to which Rose would be forced to say ‘too late’. 

Sinking into a chair in the lounge, she laid her head back on the headrest and let her mind wander. As they usually did when she gave them free rein, her thoughts turned to Ian. He was going to be gone a few weeks, he said. It was probably for the best. It would give her time to get a handle on herself. She needed to get over this crush - and fast. Bad Wolf Books needed her attention.

But like a pathetic teenager, she was missing him already - and she’d just seen him a few hours before. ‘Pathetic teenager’ felt appropriate, considering that was probably exactly how he saw her. Not only was he much older than her, he was a record producer - a successful one. He probably hobnobbed with celebrities.

An idea struck her suddenly, one that had been niggling her all day, and she got out of her chair even as she dismissed it as stupid. She went to the small box on the corner of her computer desk that contained her father’s CDs she’d yet to upload into her iTunes. Plopping into her computer chair, she kicked her feet up onto the desk and pulled the box into her lap. She flipped through the CDs, looking for one band in particular.

_Gallifrey._

Ian had had an unusual reaction earlier when she talked about the band. She’d thought it odd at the time, but hadn’t pushed him. Thinking about it now, though… she wondered…

Rose knew he was in the music business and that he played guitar, among other things. He’d told her that he used to be in a band. And she could have sworn --

She found the records she was looking for and pulled one out, flipping it over. There he was. And it _was_ Ian, she was sure of it now. She hadn’t fully recognized him before because the man on the back of the CD was clean-shaven, with longer, darker hair, and was dressed in an outfit very unlike the casual look that she’d gotten used to on Ian. 

But Rose Tyler knew those eyes - they’d smiled at her from across the table dozens of times. Looking at the hands that held the guitar, they were the same hands that had brought her coffee every other day for the past several weeks.

There was no mistaking it: Ian Docherty was the Doctor, and the Doctor was a rock star. She’d heard him on the radio hundreds of times, her whole life. 

“Shit,” she muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose and willing the tears not to fall. This had been bad enough when she’d thought him just a record producer. To find out he was a national bloody celebrity… 

Rose sighed, rubbing her eyes, still fighting the tears. She hadn’t had a crush on a bloke in years. It just figured that when she did, he’d be so completely, laughably out of her league, she’d have a better shot with Prince Harry. What would a rock star want with a chav like her? She was a nobody - less than a nobody. 

_Then why does he keep coming in for coffee with you?_

He had always come in for coffee, she reminded herself, he’d been doing so for a long time. That’s how he knew her father. Now she was just glomming onto him, desperately seeking the attention of someone who had been nice to her. Come to think of it, their little inside joke revolved around just that: he told her every time that she was in his usual spot, and she never moved. 

Rose wracked her brain to try and remember anything she might have done that could be construed as ‘clingy’. She’d asked him to coffee first, she knew. He’d come back of his own free will, though - but what if he only came back because she said she enjoyed their time together? He felt duty-bound. And she’d automatically assumed…

Her face glowed red and the tears finally won. How could she have been so stupid? He probably not only thought of her as a pathetic teenager, he likely saw her as a _needy_ pathetic teenager. 

She was struck with a sudden, horrifying thought. What if he’d only been spending those afternoons with her because he still felt guilty about how they met and was apologizing? 

Oh, God. He hadn’t been coming because he enjoyed the time with her like she’d believed, he was coming out of a sense of obligation. Rose buried her face in her hands and wept bitter tears - tears of hurt, tears of humiliation, and tears of unrequited feeling. 

When she was done she wiped her eyes, sniffled once, then squared her shoulders. 

Right. She’d had a good cry over the bloke, and there would be no more of that. She’d made a few mistakes, gotten her head turned, but she wasn’t going to be making a fool of herself anymore. Rose Tyler was _not_ a pathetic teenager, and she was determined not to act like one. She was going to use these three weeks to get herself together so if and when he came back, she’d be better prepared to deal with him. In the meantime, she wasn’t going to cry over him or think about him anymore. 

It was a promise she would break more times than she could count.

~*~O~*~

1 April 2016

“That’ll be £35.23,” Rose said, bagging the children’s books she’d just sold while the customer tried to juggle sorting through her wallet and attempting to settle an excited seven-year-old. 

“Alright, there, calm down,” the woman said in a pleasant brogue. “Cor, but I’ve never seen a lass so excited about a book.”

“It’s horses, Mam! I love horses!”

“That’s true,” the woman fairly muttered. “She does love horses.”

Rose smiled gently and handed the bag over to the bouncing little girl, who took it enthusiastically. 

“What do you say?” her mother prodded her.

“Thank you!” the little girl chirped. “This is my new favorite store! You had lots of horse books!”

She chuckled. “I’m glad you liked it here. I hope we’ll see you back very soon.”

“Daresay you will, dearie,” the older woman said, dropping her wallet into her purse and taking the little girl’s hand. “Come along, Samantha. Time to go.”

Rose watched the two leave the shop, her smile not fading right away. She had never done much work with the public and was still learning the ropes, but seemed to be good at it, for the most part. She certainly enjoyed talking to the different people who came into her shop, making small talk with them. And they seemed to enjoy talking with her. The lady who had just left had talked to Rose while her child was looking for books about her own hobby, gardening, and Rose had ended up ordering two books for her before she left. She’d enjoyed the conversation, and her Scottish accent had reminded Rose of someone else she knew...

 _No._ The smile slid off her face and Rose tamped down the memory of blue eyes and a soft smile. There was no use thinking about him. She’d likely never see him again. 

It was the same thing she’d been telling herself all week, and it had yet to sink in. She was still thinking of him constantly, still missing him, still wishing he’d walk through the door - especially on the afternoons he’d usually come in. 

But that was okay. She still had nearly two weeks to get herself together, to screw her head on straight. She could do it. She had to. 

“Donna?” she called into the back room. “Do you mind if I take a breather? I was going to go have a coffee at Torchwood if that’s alright. I’ll be right next door if you need me…” 

“I think I’ll be okay,” Donna said, coming out, tying her apron on, getting ready for work. “I’ve only been doing this with your father for seven years. Go,” she said with a push to Rose’s shoulders. “Sit. Drink coffee and relax. You need a break.”

Rose smiled before she turned to go into Torchwood, waving over her shoulder. It would be nice to have a break - an actual break where she didn’t have to keep an eye on the shop. She may even get crazy and sit in the seat that kept its back to the bookshop - the one Ian usually sat in. 

She didn’t allow herself to think on the idea that it might make her feel closer to him. 

Jack was standing at the counter with Gwen, his new hire, and the two were looking over a manual of some sort. When she approached them, Jack looked up with a big grin. “Rosie!”

She smiled and raised her hand. “Hi, Jack.”

“Gwen, go make Rosie a vanilla cappuccino, extra whip.”

“Is that all you want?” Gwen asked her. 

“Yes, thank you.”

“No problem!” Gwen went to the espresso machine, leaving Rose and Jack to talk. 

“What can I do you for, Rosie?”

“I wanted to pay my tab. I’ve left it long enough.”

“Alright,” Jack agreed, and walked to the register to get his clipboard. Rose braced herself. She hadn’t paid her tab since she’d taken over the shop. Jack had told her not to worry about it last month when everything was so fresh and she was struggling. She was _still_ struggling, quite a bit, actually, but didn’t want to let him know that. The longer she left it, the worse it would be, and she wanted to pay as soon as she could. 

Rose shuddered to think what it would be like - especially considering she’d been having coffee with Ian three times a week. She tried not to splurge too much and Jack only charged her a pound per coffee, but still…

“That comes to….£27.”

“I’m paying for two months,” she reminded Jack. 

“I know. It’s £27.”

Rose gaped at him. “That can’t be right. I’m in here all the time.”

“I should hope so. You literally live on top of us.”

“No, I mean, I’ve drunk a ton of coffee in here.”

“Twenty-seven of them, to be exact,” Jack said, amused. 

“But… that _can’t_ be right,” she argued stubbornly. Her words trailed off and she tried to think. She’d had much more than that, about a coffee a day. Hadn’t she?

“Of course,” Jack interrupted with exaggerated innocence. “Part of your tab was picked up by someone.”

She froze. “Who?”

“Ian Docherty.”

Rose’s heart started pounding and her hands felt clammy. Surely he didn’t mean --

“Ian paid for them?”

“Sure did. Paid for every one of your drinks when you two had coffee together.”

Rose’s mind reeled while she paid and went to the table by the door, sitting in the seat Ian usually took. Why would he do that? It lent credence to the idea that he was only coming in because he was feeling guilty and wanted to repay some perceived debt. And it only served to make her feel even more like rubbish. Once again, she racked her brain to try to think of anything she might have done or said that would give him guilt that might have led him to feel like he had to keep making up what he’d said to her. She couldn’t come up with anything, but there _must_ have been something. 

On top of that, even if she were to let that go, at what point would that ‘debt’ be paid? And would he disappear again when that happened?

There was the other option, the one she didn’t dare think of. Maybe he was just a nice bloke. An old-school gentleman. Maybe he’d just wanted to do something nice for her. 

She had no idea, but she was fighting down tears - again - all the same. 

This had to stop. She simply _had_ to forget about him. And she would, she absolutely would. But she also needed to make him understand that he didn’t owe her anything. She’d do that the very first chance she got.


	8. Chapter 8

4 April 2016

Ian stared down at the blank paper in front of him. Dozens of empty lines stared back up, taunting him. 

He’d gotten home from the day’s session a half hour ago, eaten a bite, then sat down and tried to start brainstorming. Conditions were ideal for him to be creative, but Rose’s face kept swimming to the front of his mind - much to his annoyance. He hadn’t seen her in a week now, and the hope that being away from her would drag her out of his system was fading fast. 

So he did his best to think about other topics, things that wouldn’t be quite as disruptive to his life as the blonde woman with the caramel eyes. His hands came up to cover his face and he sighed. 

Fucking women, man. God knew he’d dealt with enough of them. He knew all too well just how low a man could be brought by a smile. And Rose Tyler - she had a fucking magnificent smile. 

But there was no use thinking about that. She was young - too young for him. Just over half his fucking age. There was no way in hell she’d want a much older man, not when the entire male half of the species was at her disposal. In her mind, he was no one special, just an older bloke to make conversation with. She had no idea he was the Doctor, that he sold out arenas all over the world. To her, he was nothing more than Ian. 

And that was fine with him, really. Brilliant. It had been his experience over the last twenty years or so that the vast majority of women didn’t _care_ about Ian, they wanted the Doctor. So Rose not being aware of that part of him and his life was ideal. She could just know Ian. 

Except she’d never _want_ Ian. Why would she? He was much older than her, nothing special to look at, and a grumpy old bastard, to boot. If all she wanted was the Doctor, he wouldn’t want _her_.

But he _did_ want her. God help him, he did. She’d fully captured his attention, and he was having a hell of a time concentrating on anything else. 

And then she’d _touched_ him. Without thinking, Ian brought his hand up to cover the place where her hand had touched his scruffy cheek, remembering the way that had felt - and the way her touch had made _him_ feel. As if his blood was simmering.

Goddammit. 

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, willing away all of the clutter in his brain. There was an idea right on the tip of his mind… if he could just reach it…

...It had been such a _good_ idea, really, this distance between them. He’d been sure that he’d miss her the first day or so, which was only natural since he’d fallen into a little routine that involved her, but he’d miss her less as time went on. Work would distract and keep him busy. And then, over the course of a couple of days, he’d forget about her and the way her small hands wrapped around her cup of coffee to keep them warm, or the way she would tease him about something, her eyes twinkling when her tongue made an appearance in her smile. He was determined not to dwell on the times he’d caught a whiff of her scent when she’d been close enough, or the way her laugh sounded like a love song. 

Ian had said he was going to get past all of that shit, but that had apparently been a goddamn lie. He had never been the ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’ type, and he’d have said before this week that he was as fond as he could be, that he couldn’t possibly be even more fucking distracted and enchanted by her. But fuck, that was yet another way he’d been wrong. 

He shook his head to try and clear it. He wasn’t supposed to be dwelling on a beautiful woman half his age. What was fucking _supposed_ to be happening _now_ was him writing a song - about anything. He scrubbed his hands over his face, then sighed. The page was still just as blank as it had been, and he decided to surrender, to finally give permission for his mind to wander where it wanted to go. 

The pen glided easily over the paper, filling it in short order. The words he wrote spoke of longing, of the desire to be with someone who was just out of reach… and through all the words, there was woven a bit of hope. 

Right. He was going to have to fucking see her as soon as possible or he very well may go mad. 

Ian sighed, leaning his head back against the headrest of the couch again, wondering if he was already there.

~*~O~*~

6 April 2016

It had been a week and two days since he’d last seen her, and goddammit, he was going spare. His temper was shorter than usual (which was saying something), he had very little tolerance for any shenanigans in the studio, and he was starting to worry that he was uptight enough that his work would suffer. All because he couldn’t get this girl out of his mind. 

He needed to see her - to try to get his fucking head on straight, but he also suspected he’d just feel fucking _better_ if he could lay eyes on her, talk to her, just exist in her orbit for a while. Then, with any fucking luck, he’d be able to go back to the fucking studio and finish his fucking job. 

So he was on his way to see her. And if this didn’t work, if he _couldn’t_ get this woman out of his system, he’d just be right back in this exact spot sometime soon. He tried not to think about that. 

When he reached the shop he pushed the door open with his elbow, owing to the bag he carried, and used his free hand to pull off his Ray-Bans to hang on the front of his shirt. The store was empty except for the ginger woman Ian had always thought wasn’t terribly fond of him. Donna.

“Excuse me. I’m looking for Rose?”

She turned around and gave him a look. “I’m sorry, she’s not in right now. Can I help you find something?” 

Her words were polite but her tone was chilly and Ian bit back a tirade. It was bullshit and he knew it. Rose was always there. She practically lived in the shop - hell, she _literally_ lived in the fucking building. Donna was just doing her job, he reminded himself. But she was also keeping him from Rose, and he was less than pleased about that. His temper was entirely too close to the surface for this shit right now. 

“Just tell me where she is,” he snapped. 

“What do you want with her, anyway?”

“I’m a friend.”

Donna snorted. “You’ve never been friendly a day in your life,” she muttered.

Ian clenched his free hand, furious, then snapped at her. “Never-fucking-mind. I’ll ask Jack.” He stormed off, eyebrows furrowed, until he got close to the archway between the shops where he could see his usual table. Rose was there, sitting in the seat he usually occupied when they had coffee together, her back to him. Ian grinned, taking a second just to feel himself relax as a result of being in her presence. After a moment, when he started to worry that anyone watching would think him a creep, he walked the couple of steps over to her and leaned down a little. 

“You’re in my spot.”

Rose jumped and Ian immediately apologized for scaring her. She ignored the apologies. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, her hand still on her chest, eyes still wild. 

A jolt of panic shot all through him, but he tried to ignore it. She’d just been startled, after all. “May I sit?”

Rose softened just a bit. “Of course you can. I’m just surprised to see you, is all. You said three weeks, and it’s only been nine days.”

Ian raised an eyebrow at her and she blushed, looking adorably flustered. His own hopes soared, knowing that she’d counted the days. Then he squashed them. That didn’t mean anything, really, he insisted to himself. 

“We knocked off early for the day,” he explained, “so I thought I’d come tempt you.” The plastic sack he’d been carrying was placed on the table between them. 

“What’s this?” she asked, hooking her finger on the bag and peering inside. 

“Dinner for two from Bruce’s, just down the street. You like the club, yes?”

She was staring at him blankly and he panicked. He’d thought… well, no, that was a lie. He’d wanted to see her so fucking badly that he’d acted purely on emotion and gut instinct. Probably should have thought this through more. Had he done the wrong thing? Her reaction certainly wasn’t what he’d expected - good _or_ bad.

Panicking, deciding to backpedal, he pushed away from the table a little. “Look, I --”

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” she talked over him in a rush. “You don’t have to keep making up for what you said that day.”

Ian was dumbfounded for a minute, not quite sure what she was talking about. Then it clicked into place. 

“You said you were past it and I took you at your word. Should I not have?”

“No! No… I mean yes, I’m past it. I just thought you weren’t.” 

“No, you said it was over, and I believed you.”

“Then why have you been buying my coffee? Jack told me last night. And now you’ve brought me dinner.”

He gave her a disbelieving look. “You thought I came in here and bought you coffee three days a week because I felt _guilty_? And that’s why I showed up with dinner?”

“It’s not?”

“Fuck no, it’s not!”

“Then… why?”

He’d painted himself into this corner and he knew it. Now he had to figure a way out of it. It wouldn’t do to give himself away, but he had to be honest. What the fuck was he to do?

“I missed you,” he blurted before his brain could stop him. “I missed our time together. I’d hoped you had, too --”

“I did,” she answered at once, and something inside him relaxed. He smiled in relief. 

“Good.” _Understatement of the fucking year._ “Now, shall we eat before the chips get cold?”

“You brought chips?” She took the white styrofoam box he handed her and opened it with interest.

“Of course I brought chips,” he scoffed. “Who has sandwiches from a chippy without fucking chips? That’s some shit Fergus would pull.”

Rose smiled at him for the first time in eight long days, and that was it, that was what he had needed. He’d be able to function at work now.

For a while.

He didn’t take the time to dwell on just how incredibly fucked he was. That could come later - after he spent the evening with her. Right now, he needed to concentrate on not floating away in a haze of bliss from her smile. 

“Who is Fergus?”

“My best mate. I’ve mentioned him. He’s a nutter - doesn’t like chips.”

Rose recoiled in mock horror. “I can’t imagine such a sad state of affairs.”

Ian chuckled. “He’s a sorry individual, indeed.”

When they opened their clamshell containers, Rose immediately grabbed her pickle spear with two fingers and tossed it into his box. He watched her with a wry look until the pickle landed on top of his sandwich, then he looked up from the apparently offensive food with a raised eyebrow.

“Not a fan, I take it?”

She was wiping her fingers off on her napkin. “Pickles are disgusting,” she said with an upturned nose.

Feeling a bit cheeky, he picked it up and took a bite, grinning at her while he chewed. She rolled her eyes at his antic, but she smiled. That was all he wanted. 

They chatted while they ate, and Ian told her a bit about what he’d been doing for the last week. She claimed to know nothing about the recording process, and it was fun to teach her. She seemed interested and asked clever questions. Impossibly, he found himself more attracted to her than he had been that morning, when he’d been afraid he’d lose his mind if he didn’t see her. 

“And you record every day?”

“For about twelve hours a day, yeah, until the album is finished. That could take anywhere from two weeks to two months, depending on the artist. Time for the studio is budgeted for each project on a case-by-case basis. Three weeks is pretty standard.” 

“Is it going well?”

“They seem to be competent, surprisingly enough. We’re moving a bit faster than I expected, so I saw no harm in giving them the night off.”

“And those are all the breaks you get? The ones you grant yourself?” 

He shrugged. “And we take a break on Sundays.” 

Rose grinned. “That’s funny, so do I.”

“Well maybe we should take a break together,” he suggested, wondering where the fuck this bravado was coming from. 

“Yes, I think we should,” she agreed, her tongue going to the corner of her mouth. “Give me your mobile.”

Ian was a little confused but did as instructed, unlocking his phone and handing it to her. She took it and tapped for a minute or so, then handed it back to him. 

“There,” she said. “Now you have my number, so you can text in case you want to get together on Sunday. Or you can… you know… just text.” She froze for half a beat then went on, her speech pressured. “If you want. You don’t have to. It was just a thought.”

Her cheeks flamed and Ian had a wild thought. Was she attracted to _him_ , too?

“I will certainly be in touch about Sunday. There are scads of things we could get into. You’ll have to decide what you want to do.”

She looked pensive for a second. “Something relaxing but fun. That’s what days off are meant for, right?”

“Right,” he agreed, already trying to think of something they could do. Something impressive. 

_Does she want you?_

~*~O~*~

8 April 2016

Ian scowled through the studio’s window at the band members who could not seem to get their heads out of their arses to get any work done. Working with these four felt a bit like herding cats, and his patience - which was already famously thin - was reaching the breaking point.

He looked down at the board and turned one of the hundreds of knobs - just the right knob, just the right amount - then looked back up at the lads behind the window, trying to concentrate. But of course, his mind ran to Rose. 

The instinct that he’d needed to see her had been spot on, and he was glad he’d taken the evening to spend with her. He’d come back to work the next day in a much better mood than when he left, feeling like his old self, and yesterday had been much more productive.

But that same craving for her, that irritable, unsettled feeling, was creeping back after just a day away from her. He wanted more time to test his newly-formed theory that she was attracted to him; it was too fantastic to believe without more proof. 

He was mad about her, there was no sense in denying it. And he’d been fully prepared to admire her from a distance, knowing deep down that having her would be an impossibility, a pipe dream. But if he was wrong… if she wanted him… well, that was a whole new spin on things. Might there be a chance for the two of them? Could they really be together?

Ian didn’t know. There were several factors that needed to be weighed - her age, his job, public perception. He’d have to consider all of that very carefully before he decided whether or not to actually pursue something with Rose. Officially. But for now, she was never far from his mind, and the yearning for her was growing stronger, disrupting his ability to concentrate on work. That wouldn’t do at all. Not only might his reputation as a superb engineer and producer suffer, if he dawdled too much the sessions might take longer than three weeks - which was already a danger with the way the band was cocking up. And that would be even _more_ time that he was away from her. 

“Hey, Doctor,” the lead guitarist said from beside him, speaking despite being told not to. Ian grunted in acknowledgement. “You’re a guitar player, right?”

He turned his head slowly to look at the young man. Pretty much every-fucking-body in the world knew that the Doctor was a guitar player, and certainly everyone in the music industry. He’d been ranked as one of the greatest guitar players of the last fifty years by Guitar World, BBC Music Magazine, Billboard, and goddamn Rolling Stone. 

“Yeah. I play a bit,” he said sarcastically.

“Think you could help me? I mean, I always feel like I could be better. You know?”

_Goddamn skippy you could be better._

He turned back to the board. “We’ll see. I don’t have a lot of fucking time.” It was a lie, but this fucking upstart didn’t need to know that.

“Cool, cool,” said the kid, then sat in silence for a bit while the Doctor worked. Ian called a halt to the recording, swore fluently and unnecessarily at the drummer and bass player, then made them take it from the top while he sat back down in his seat, scowling. This was getting to be a problem. 

The kid didn’t seem to heed the silent ‘shut the fuck up’ warning that Ian was radiating, because he asked, “D’you know what this track needs?”

Ian adjusted the levels on the snare and didn’t look up. “If you say ‘more fucking cowbell’, be aware that I will be strangling you with your own guitar cable then shoving your fucking telecaster up your arse. Body first. Sans lube.”

The guitarist didn’t say anything else and Ian almost smirked. But he didn’t: his mind had been taken over by Rose again. He had to see her. He needed to discover whether or not she was genuinely attracted to him and stop torturing himself. He needed to see her smile again, to feel the peace and contentment brought on when she did. He just needed to be _near_ her. And she’d seemed very, very open to the idea of a date on Sunday.

Right. His mind was made up. He’d text her now, make a date with her, then see her Sunday. He’d say something clever, she’d smile at him, and he’d get his fix - like a fucking junkie. He wouldn’t give any thought to how the hell he was ever meant to function as an addict. Instead, he focused his thoughts on ways he could suss out whether she was attracted to him, too. 

The boys in the studio finished the song and remained silent while Ian pushed the correct buttons and knobs in sequence. Then he got to his feet, activating his own mic to communicate with the men in the booth. 

“That was better, lads. I think you might be starting to fucking get it. I may be able to squeeze a hit out of you shitstains yet. Take five.”

He killed the mic and turned his back on the guitarist, saying out loud to no one that he was going to the lounge to get a bottle of water. As soon as he was out of the booth, though, his mobile came out of his pocket and he stared at it for a minute as he walked. Working up his nerve, he unlocked it and went to his contacts, pulling her up. 

There she was. _Rose Tyler_.

He pressed the little speech bubble and typed on the tiny keyboard.

~Ian: _It’s Ian. Did you still want to do something Sunday?_

Impatiently, he leaned against the wall in the corridor and stared at his mobile. It didn’t do anything for a long while, and Ian did his best to convince himself that she was with a customer and not ignoring him. After five minutes, he was forced back into the booth. But he didn’t put his phone back in his pocket, he left it sitting on the padded elbow rest of the board. 

He sent all four members of the band back into the studio and told them to fucking do better, that he had shit to do which didn’t involve babysitting their sorry arses - a bit of a departure from the encouragement he’d given them just a few minutes ago, when he’d thought he was going to talk to Rose in just a minute. To their credit, they took it in stride. They were halfway through their song for the fifth time and Ian was close to losing his mind - both at them and at the lack of response from Rose - when his mobile lit up beside him. 

~Rose: _Hi! I’d love to do something. Ideas?_

Ian grinned, thoroughly ignoring the band, and typed back a message. 

~Ian: _I have a couple of ideas. Pick you up at your shop around noon? We’ll do lunch then find something fun to do_  
~Rose: _That sounds perfect. Can’t wait. See you then!_  
~Ian: _See you_

He was still grinning when he slipped his phone into his pocket just as the band was wrapping up. Ian depressed the mic button. “That was better. Don’t back off. You’ve almost fucking got it.”

The men in the studio gave each other puzzled looks and Ian sat back down, making minor adjustments to the playback. 

“Are you alright?” one of the band members asked from behind the glass.

Ian’s smile grew. He was going to spend the day with Rose soon. His afternoon with her was forty-six hours away, to be exact. He could wait that long. No sweat. The payoff would be worth it. 

“I’m fucking peachy.”


	9. Chapter 9

10 April 2016

Rose stood on the pavement outside her shop, looking around anxiously and chewing her thumbnail. She’d convinced herself that Ian spending time with her was merely a consequence of coming into the shop - even if he did it three times a week - and that their friendship was secondary to his desire for coffee. That idea had been rocked on its heels when he’d come in Wednesday night with dinner for both of them. She was still afraid to lend too much weight to his actions; she couldn’t let what she wanted color her view of what was actually happening. No matter how desperately she wanted it. 

And she did want it, wanted _him_. Which was insane, really, when you thought about all the things she had going on in her life. Rose didn’t have the time for anything else, period. But that didn’t stop her from wanting - nor did the fact that he was a bonafide rock star, famous across Great Britain, and could likely have any woman he wanted. Why would he want her?

But they were going to be spending time together today, time away from the shop. He’d said that they were going to go eat lunch and then do something together. It was hard not to let her mind wander into dangerous territory in this situation. But she _couldn’t_ let her mind wander. She had to tamp down those thoughts before they took root. 

_This is not a date._

Rose pushed her jumbled thoughts aside and dropped her thumb when she spotted him on the pavement half a block or so away, walking towards her. Her mother had always said that you could tell a lot about a man by the way he got around. Rose had never seen Ian move around too much, since they’d always been in one of the shops or another, but she took a moment to assess him now. 

His strides were long and his gait was confident - but not cocky. It wasn’t a strut. One got the sense that he was used to owning any room he walked in, which made sense when you considered who and what he was. He was wearing what Rose had come to realize was his usual kit of slim-cut black jeans and boots with a blazer over a well-loved t-shirt. Sunlight reflected from his Ray-Bans, which she knew would soon be hooked to the front of his shirt. 

While he was still a few yards away, he caught sight of her and grinned, his face changing and softening with the smile. Rose’s heart stuttered but she smiled back - her first genuine smile in two days. 

_This is not a date._

“Miss Tyler,” he said in a grand voice when he got close, as if he were addressing a duchess. “You’re looking absolutely lovely.”

She looked down at the jumper and jeans she was wearing. He hadn’t given any indication what they were going to do and she hadn’t known how to dress, so she’d worn the nicest of her comfortable clothes. She’d felt cute when she put them on - now she was too nervous to tell how she felt about them. 

“Thank you,” she said with a blush. “You look…”

Rose faltered for a second, but he grinned even brighter and finished for her: “Lovely, yes?”

She giggled. “Yes, quite lovely.” Her tongue came to the corner of her mouth instinctively.

Ian seemed frozen for just a second, then he recovered. “Shall we?” He offered his arm and she only hesitated for a moment before she slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. She was able to smell him - clean, spicy, and desperately appealing. He was quite a bit taller than her so she had to look up at him, which gave her a fantastic view of that scruff she loved so much. The impulse to reach up and touch it again was strong, but she tamped it down. 

_This is not a date._

“After you,” she said with a smile, then followed the tug of his arm into the flow of pedestrians on the pavement.

~*~O~*~

Ian hadn’t done a lot of traditional dating. His lifestyle had never been conducive to it, and there’d never really been any need. The women who hung around the band didn’t require wooing: the Doctor’s songs had done the dirty work for him. 

But now there was Rose, who had no idea he _was_ the Doctor. He was grateful for that; it gave him a chance to be a regular bloke. He didn’t bother to think about the fact that he’d have to tell her eventually, and he _certainly_ didn’t think about the fact that she would likely not want anything to do with him or his lifestyle when she did. Those thoughts were better pushed aside until he was forced to examine them at a later date. Personally, he hoped it would be a very long time. 

In the meantime, here he was, on a date. Not that he’d call it that just yet - not out loud. He feared Rose may be skittish. No one needed to know how he classified it in the privacy of his own mind. But, honestly, it didn’t matter what it was called. He was just enjoying time with this young woman who intrigued and enchanted him so - and testing his theory that she wasn’t immune to him. There was reason to be hopeful, and he was guardedly optimistic. 

Rose had tossed her pickle onto his plate again with a wrinkled nose, and he picked it up with a grin, chewing while he tried to think of something clever to say. Wasn’t he supposed to be good at that? Before he could come up with anything, his blonde companion snitched a couple of his chips. 

“Oi!”

The little minx shrugged unapologetically. “Fair trade. Besides, they gave you too many. I was just helping out.”

“ _‘Helping out’_ , she says,” he groused, but Rose’s eyes were twinkling and he couldn’t have been angry with her if he’d tried. The corner of his mouth quirked up.

“So,” she started, snitching another of his chips. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” he told her with his own twinkling eyes. 

Her eyebrow raised. “A surprise?”

“I think you’ll like it. But it’s a little way across town. Mind if we stop off and pick up my car?”

“Fine by me,” she shrugged. 

Ian relaxed a little. It may have been arbitrary, but he had placed a lot of stock into whether or not she’d be willing to ride in his car. To him, that had felt like a test of trust - and he was ridiculously happy to have passed. 

They cleared up their mess from the table and stepped back out onto the pavement, him once again offering Rose his arm. He was gratified when she took it, if for no other reason than because it put her in close proximity. He was able to smell her from this close, her scent floral and a little sweet. It was intoxicating. 

If anyone had ever told him that he’d be able to get high just from being around a woman, he’d have laughed in their faces. But that was before Rose Tyler. 

“That’s my building,” he pointed as they passed it. “My flat is on the twelfth floor. Takes up the whole top floor, actually.”

She eyed the building skeptically. “Doesn’t look big enough to be flats.”

“No, it doesn’t. But they’re bigger on the inside. My flat is rather roomy, I like it.”

They arrived at the garage and got into his car, a sporty blue roadster. It was an 1963 Stingray, one of the few material possessions (besides his guitars) that he was proud of, but Rose didn’t comment on it and he felt suddenly ostentatious. 

“You still haven’t told me where we’re going,” she reminded him. 

Ian’s eyes darted over to her, wanting to gauge her reaction. “The planetarium.”

Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped, even though she was smiling. “You’re kidding.”

“I am not,” he assured her. “It’s a common interest of ours and neither of us have been in years. It seemed like a simple enough choice to me.” He was quiet for a second, waiting for her to say something, but she didn’t fill the silence. After a moment, his insecurity got the better of him. “Is that alright?”

“Yeah,” she said, and her voice had an odd quality. She cleared her throat, then turned to him and smiled. “Yeah. S’brilliant.”

He relaxed at her smile. “Fantastic.”

The ride to the planetarium was short, and the two filled the trip with the same kind of comfortable conversation they enjoyed when he came in for coffee. Once there, Ian parked the car, bought tickets for the show, and went inside with Rose on his arm again. 

They were about fifteen minutes early, and every seat in the planetarium was a good seat, so he just picked the two that were farthest away from the other people in the audience. There was nothing separating him from Rose but a single armrest, which he glared at for having the audacity to exist. 

Rose leaned her chair back to improve her view and Ian followed suit, resisting the temptation to take her hand in his. He had no indication that she _wasn’t_ attracted to him, but there was no concrete evidence that she _was_ , either. He still wasn’t sure. And even if he had been, the timing wasn’t right. 

So he kept his hands balled in his lap when he wasn’t pointing some constellation out and telling her the myth behind each one. Rose asked intelligent questions and he was pleased to know that she was interested in his rambling. She followed his pointing finger, spotting whatever celestial body or formation he was talking about, leaning closer to him so she could hear his lowered voice. 

“Which one’s Taurus?”

Ian pointed across her body at about a forty-five degree angle, trying not to touch her, lest his control falter. “There.”

“That’s my sign,” Rose said, still not looking at him. “Not that I believe in that nonsense, of course. I just know he’s a bull.”

“He’s Zeus, actually,” Ian remarked, debating how to couch the story he was about to tell. “Zeus was the king of the gods, but he fell in love with an earthly princess, Europa. Deciding he had to have her for himself, he transformed into a bull and seduced her.”

“Into a bull?” Rose asked, turning to him with one eyebrow and the corner of her mouth quirked up.

“I don’t know why he chose to be an animal. The Greeks were a fucking odd lot.” Rose giggled and he went on. “When she was sufficiently in love with him, he ran away with her.”

She turned back to look up at the constellation, and Ian took in her gorgeous face. She glowed in the artificial starlight, her face turned up towards the ‘sky’, and he had to bite his cheek to keep from turning her face to his and kissing her until her thoughts were just as jumbled as she made his. 

“And it’s there?” She pointed at another cluster of stars to the left of what she was looking for. 

Later, he’d debate with himself what had made him do what he did next. Over time, he decided it was just the overwhelming need to touch her. 

He leaned closer to her, the armrest digging into his side as he stretched. He covered her pointing hand with his and laid his own finger along the back of hers - bringing his face dangerously close to her ear - and murmuring. 

“Taurus is just over…” He adjusted their hands. “There.” Neither of them moved, but he thought he sensed her respirations speeding up. Perhaps those were just his. 

He turned his head towards her and whispered. “See it?”

She was so close, so _fucking_ close… all he would have to do…

“Yeah,” she croaked after a long moment. It almost pained him physically, but he let go of her hand and retreated when she started to pull back into herself. His mind raced. Had he done the wrong thing? Had he done the _right_ thing? What could he do to make it better _now_?

“Rose, I --” He started, but at that moment the lights dimmed further, pitching the room into blackness. It was just as well. He wasn’t one bit sorry for what he’d done, and telling her he was would have been an outright lie. 

Instead he turned towards the ceiling and watched the program on celestial bodies. It was rudimentary stuff, really. Things you might see in the night sky… comets, asteroids, various types of stars and galaxies. Ian let his brain disengage while the narrator talked, relaxing as best he could with Rose so near. 

His attention was recaptured, however, when the narrator started discussing celestial binary systems. 

“Former planet Pluto, for example, and its largest known moon, Charon, are a binary system. They orbit each other, swirling around a barycenter that lies outside of Pluto, causing each of them to wobble in their orbit.”

The screen showed an image of two spheres orbiting each other, looking very much like a dance. 

“No matter how wobbly it looks, the orbit of these two tidally-locked bodies is incredibly stable and beautiful to behold.”

Ian watched the two bodies orbiting, eternally facing one another. He snuck a glance at Rose, who was watching the show with an intense look on her face, then looked back up at Pluto and Charon, pondering.

~*~O~*~

His mood was less pensive and more buoyant when he strode into the Fox and Badger later that night to meet Fergus for a nightcap after making plans to see Rose again on Wednesday evening. It was only three days, he felt sure he could last that long without seeing her, particularly now that he had permission - and even encouragement! - to text her whenever he had downtime while recording. Being in contact with her would go a long way towards keeping him sane in the days he couldn’t see her, he knew. 

Well. He hoped. 

Yes, he had that settled, peaceful feeling he always had after he spent time with her, but he was also jubilant. His hunch that she was attracted to him, while still just as difficult to believe, seemed to be spot on. Once he’d been looking for them, the signals of attraction were all there. Honestly, he couldn’t fathom what would attract a gorgeous, twenty-six year old shop owner to the likes of him, _especially_ when she didn’t know about his alter ego, but he wasn’t about to argue. Rose liked him for him, enjoyed his company, laughed at his jokes, and wanted to spend more time with him. No, he wasn’t about to argue with his good fortune at all. 

He spotted Fergus across the room when the ginger-haired man raised his beer to get Ian’s attention. Ian nodded his head in greeting, smiling, then went over to him and signaled the waitress as he slid into the booth across from his best mate. 

“Fergus Fitzgerald. Fancy meeting you here.”

Fergus raised an eyebrow. “You alright there, bampot?”

“I’m fucking peachy,” Ian declared, accepting his lager with a smile of thanks for the waitress. “How are you?”

“I’m well.”

Ian took a sip of his beer. “How’s your better half?”

“Better than me, as always. Told me to renew the invitation to dinner, remind you that it’s always open.”

“And I appreciate that. I promise to take you up on it one evening after I finish with the Nestene Consciousness. Couple of weeks.”

“How’s that going, by the way?”

“I have no fucking idea how these upstarts ever managed to get as far as they have. They’re basically animated plastic, I swear to Christ they are,” he bitched good-naturedly. “It’s like posing shop dummies in the studio. I shudder to think what their live shows must be like.”

“But you’re getting good stuff out of them?”

“Good enough for government work,” Ian replied, grinning. “The label will be pleased with what I’m getting together. We’ve gotten six songs finished, I suspect at least two of them will crack the top ten. Nice hooks.”

“Well that’s good to hear.”

“Indeed.”

Fergus gave him a shrewd look. “I heard you knocked off work early on Wednesday?”

“I did.”

“And you didn’t record today.”

“No, we did not,” Ian answered, sensing Fergus’ trajectory and not really caring. 

“That’s unlike you.”

He shrugged, taking a sip of his lager. “All work and no play…”

“And you’re in a damn fine mood tonight. Did you just get laid?”

Ian threw back his head and laughed. “No, not at all.”

“I didn’t think so, you’re not usually so animated. But _something_ has gotten into you. What is it?”

He shrugged again, not wanting to give up the answer. “I just had a good day, is all.”

Fergus’ eyes widened, and Ian smirked when he realized his best friend had figured it out. “The girl. From the shop. You went back to see her.”

“I did,” Ian confirmed. “Got into the habit of having a coffee with her a couple times a week when I’d stop by the shop.”

“Is she the reason you knocked off on Wednesday? And why you didn’t record today?”

“I won’t say she had nothing to do with it…” he hedged. 

“Did you see her those times?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. 

Fergus’ look was too sharp. “So you’re sleeping with this girl.”

“I’m not. We’re friends.”

“Friends,” he echoed, deadpan.

“Well, for now we are. But I do believe she fancies me.”

Fergus laughed. “You say that like it’s a new thing, Ian, but women fancy you all the time. You’re the Doctor, for fuck’s sake!”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t know that,” Ian pointed out, unable to help his grin. “She likes me _as me_.”

His best mate was appropriately taken aback by that and Ian felt like gloating when he took a sip of his lager in the silence. 

“She doesn’t _know_?”

“Not that I’m aware of. It’s been fucking heavenly.”

“Do you intend to keep her in the dark?”

That hadn’t occurred to Ian, and he puzzled it for a moment. “I’m not planning on blurting it out to her. I rather like things as they are.”

Fergus didn’t say anything to that, just gave him a look, then shook his head and changed the subject.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a chance that the posting schedule may be interrupted due to Hurricane Florence hitting my area (I'm in central NC). I've taken every step I could to make sure it _won't_ be, but if we lose both power and cell signal, I won't be able to post. I promise I'll get back to the normal schedule just as soon as possible!


	10. Chapter 10

13 April 2016

 _The bell over the door jingled, and Rose knew it was Ian. She was already smiling when she looked up to greet him, and he smiled back at her, setting her pulse to fluttering._

_“Hi!” she chirped, feeling silly._

_“Hi there,” he answered, coming over to where she stood, looking so achingly sexy. “I’m looking for a book. Hoping you can help me.”_

_“We’ve got a fair few of those in stock,” she grinned, flirting shamelessly. “I feel certain I can find something you’ll like.”_

_“I’m certain you can, too,” he said in a lowered voice, his eyes dragging up and down her body, and she flushed._

_“What book is it?”_

_Ian gave her a title and she punched it into the computer to check inventory. “Poetry?” she asked, curious._

_“Problem?”_

_“I just never figured you to be the romantic sort,” she explained, her face heating._

_“You figured wrong,” he told her, and Rose gripped the counter to stay upright._

_“Right this way,” she told him, her voice quivering a little, and then led him towards the back of the store. The normally short walk seemed to take longer than usual, and she was acutely aware of his presence behind her. Finally, she got to the section she was looking for. It seemed very private, all of a sudden._

_“Here we are: poetry,” she said with a smile, not looking over her shoulder to see if he was still there. She could FEEL him… and with every passing second as she browsed the titles, looking for his book, she could feel him getting closer and closer. Rose’s heart rate soared from his nearness and she took in the smell of him that surrounded her, warm and masculine. Safe. Comfortable._

_Ian._

_The words in front of her all blurred together and her fingers tripped over the spines they were supposed to be searching. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember what she was supposed to be doing. All she knew was him. He filled her senses._

_“Rose?”_

_She turned around and he was very close, crowding her in the best possible way. One of his arms propped on the shelf behind her and he leaned a little closer, making Rose’s pulse skyrocket._

_She swallowed hard. “I… I don’t see it.”_

_“I think I found what I’m looking for anyway.”_

_His eyes blazed and she felt nearly trapped by them. Helpless under his powerful spell. Honestly, she never wanted to be anywhere else._

_“You can’t mean me.”_

_“Oh, but I do.”_

_“I’m not good enough for you,” she whispered, confessing her deepest fear._

_“Let me be the judge of that,” he replied, leaning ever closer, bumping her nose with his. “Rose?”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“Can I kiss you?”_

_“Yeah…”_

_His lips found hers and she melted at once, surrendering herself to this man and his kiss. She felt his hand come up to cup her cheek and his other arm wound around her waist, pulling her closer. Within moments, the kiss had deepened, he was claiming her with his lips, mouth, and tongue, and Rose was loving every second of it. She never wanted him to stop kissing her, stop touching her. She wanted this moment to last forever. She wanted…_

_**BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!**_

She sat up straight in bed, gasping awake, getting her bearings. A dream. It had all been a dream. _Again._ Ian hadn’t really kissed her, he hadn’t really told her he wanted her, it was all a figment of her imagination. 

_Dammit!_

Rose slammed the button on the alarm with much more force than normal and rolled out of bed, grumbling. She really needed to get a better grip on herself. They were _friends_ , nothing more. And she was grateful for that. It would never be more - _could_ never be more, so she would grab every opportunity to spend time with him with both hands. 

He was coming tonight and she absolutely couldn’t wait. At the end of their not-date on Sunday, he’d asked if he could come back one evening this week. Rose had jumped at the chance. They’d decided on Wednesday, and she had been thrilled but a little discouraged. Wednesday had been three days away, at the time. It seemed like forever. 

Thankfully, the three days had passed quickly and now it was Wednesday morning. They had exchanged lots of texts over the last couple of days, and their text conversations had been much like their conversations over coffee - light and comforting to her. With every message sent and received she felt her crush deepen just a little, and she always chastised herself for being ridiculous. Nothing would ever come of this. She reminded herself of that fact for the umpteenth time as she put on her makeup and fixed her hair. It was just a friendship. That’s all. 

But... she would be seeing him tonight, and did her best to tamp down the case of jitters that was threatening to creep up on her. The dream she’d had wasn’t helping matters, really, but Rose couldn’t help but wish she could live in that perfect moment her brain had constructed, where he was mad about her and his lips were intent on showing her...

She flushed a little now, shaking herself back into reality as she shut and locked the door to her flat. It was time to put aside her daydreaming and get down to business for the day. Things at the Bad Wolf were looking more and more dire, and Rose didn’t understand why. The level of traffic and number of transactions the shop did seemed to be about the same as when her dad was alive, yet she was floundering. She desperately wanted to hire some help, but couldn’t afford to even think about it, especially when she’d had to cut her own salary _again_ to try to stem the tide. The bookkeeper had assured her yesterday in their meeting that everything was in order, she just needed to attract more business. It was now up to Rose to figure out just how to draw people into her little bookshop so she could keep its head above water. She’d studied advertising in Uni, but that had been several years ago, it had never been her strongest subject and she’d never had cause to use it. Now she did. 

Once she got the store open, before any customers arrived, she picked out a journal for herself. In secondary and then again in Uni, she’d found that when her mind became crowded, she was able to more easily sort through her thoughts when she wrote them down. Since her mind was more crowded now than it had been in many, many years, she thought it’d likely be beneficial for her to be able to filter through her thoughts. The journal she picked was separated into two parts, which Rose felt was appropriate, given that her mind was always one of two places - either on the Bad Wolf or on Ian. 

They were a bit busier than usual that day, which Rose was thrilled about. In addition to meaning there would be more money for the shop, it also kept her mind busy and off of the topics that usually filled it. Of course, she still flushed bright red when she had to lead a customer back to the poetry section, remembering her dream and wishing (again) that it had been real. 

When Donna came in later that afternoon, Rose went upstairs to her flat - ostensibly to eat lunch, but in reality, she just had a couple of crackers, touched up her hair and makeup for the time when Ian would come, and grabbed the box she had for him out of the fridge. She refused to think too hard about the box and what it contained, afraid she would chicken out if she did. She just gave it to Ianto for safekeeping when she got downstairs. 

At about half five, the text came through from Ian asking what she’d like for dinner. After her pulse rate settled down to something resembling normal, she asked him to bring a sandwich from Bruce’s, if he didn’t mind. Not only was it one of her favorite things to eat, Rose rather thought that a sandwich would be the easiest to divide in half and save part for her meal tomorrow. Besides, the chippie was the cheapest option she could think of, and she couldn’t afford better right now. 

Ian replied that he’d be there in half an hour with dinner for both of them, and Rose had been unable to stop herself from biting her lip and hugging her phone to her chest. She couldn’t wait.

~*~O~*~

Ian felt positively jolly as he strode the two blocks from Bruce’s to Bad Wolf Books, excitement guiding his steps. In just a few minutes, he’d be with her again and although it had only been three days, it had been fucking long enough. He didn’t bother to think of what it would be like when he would have to go longer stretches without seeing her. For right now, he was just excited to lay eyes on her, to be in her orbit for a little while. Worrying about later could come later.

The bells over the door to the shop jingled when he opened it, and it occurred to him that he was almost being conditioned, Pavlovian-style. Those bells had become one of his favorite sounds in the world - they meant he would be seeing Rose in just a moment. That sound meant happiness. That sound meant ‘Rose’.

And there she was, sitting at the counter with a journal open in front of her, writing in it. She looked up when she heard the bells ring and her smile when she saw him was genuine, huge, and made him want to strut across the shop. 

“Hi!” she chirped, and his answering smile was the brightest he could remember in fucking ages. 

“Hello, yourself. Ready for dinner?”

“Absolutely. Just let me…” She trailed off and pressed a couple of buttons on the register. The cash drawer flew open. Ian watched as she withdrew a tenner, closed the drawer, then turned and presented the note to him, smiling. “Here you go, sir. For dinner.”

“You put that back,” he ordered her, trying to keep his voice light but firm. “I don’t want your money.”

“But --”

“But nothing. Dinner is my treat.”

“I have to pay you back _somehow_ ,” she insisted. 

“You already have. I’m getting to spend an enjoyable evening away from work. That’s a gracious plenty, worth ten times what a couple of sandwiches cost,” he assured her. Then he nodded his head at the offending money. “Now put that right the fuck away.”

Rose gave him a look that was almost mutinous but bless her, she didn’t know him well enough to know that he was practically the King of the Scowl. After a moment she sighed and muttered a little while she pressed the keys to reopen the register. Ian smirked, victorious. He couldn’t say exactly why it felt so important to pay for her, only that it did - especially since she’d hinted that the shop was struggling a bit. He very much wanted to take care of her, to see to her needs. 

He wanted to spoil her fucking rotten.

Yet another thing that he didn’t care to analyze or spend much time thinking about just yet. 

“I’ll go get our table, shall I?” he suggested, shaking off the troubling thought. 

Rose nodded. “I’ll go let Donna know I’m leaving, then I’ll be right there.”

“Sounds great.” He smiled, then went through the archway into Torchwood, setting the bag down on their usual table. That done, he decided to head Rose off before she had a chance to try to buy his coffee and stepped over to a smirking Jack and Ianto to order their drinks. 

“Hi there, Ian. How’s your week been?”

“Not bad so far,” he allowed, not adding that being there was the highlight of his week. 

“Things going well with Rosie?”

Ian didn’t flinch. “Things are brilliant.”

“Going to ask her out anytime soon?” Ianto asked, sounding very much like a concerned older brother.

“Well, I work six days a week right now, so coming in here to have dinner and be fucking harassed by you lot is about as good as it gets for the moment.”

“ _For the moment_ , he says,” Jack joked, turning around from where he stood at the espresso machine to wink at Ianto, who snorted. 

Ian started to defend himself but right then, Rose walked through the archway and he could swear the room got brighter. She caught sight of him standing at the counter and smiled; he smiled back, besotted and foolish. 

“Oh, you’ve got it bad,” Jack said in a low voice, bringing the two coffees and sitting them down. “Look at that face, Ianto. That’s the face of a man who’s completely enamored.”

“I see him. You’re right. He’s got it pretty bad.”

Ian flushed, turning back to them and pulling out his wallet. “Go to hell. The both of you.”

Jack just chuckled, taking no offense, and Ian paid for the drinks, then carried them to the table, bending down to say, “You’re in my spot,” when he got close enough. Rose beamed at him and he felt compelled to sit down right then, lest he fly away. 

“What did those two have to say?” Rose asked, pulling the box marked ‘club’ over to her and popping it open. Ian was amused - again - when she took the complimentary pickle by two fingers and tossed it onto his sandwich. 

“Not much. Just taking the mick. How’s work?” he asked, hoping to head her off before she could ask what they were taking the mick about. 

“Okay. I had the little party you suggested for the extra books I’d ordered and was able to sell about half of the overstock. What’s left is much more manageable. I owe you, big time.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Rose Tyler,” he protested. “Like I said, I’m just happy to have helped in some small way.”

“You more than helped, you saved my arse,” she grinned. 

Ian did his best not to contemplate her arse, lest he embarrass himself. The bubblegum-pink tongue that was peeking at him from the corner of her mouth was distracting enough. 

_Fuck, she’s cute._

He cleared his throat to try to control his wayward thoughts and returned to the subject at hand. “So everything is going well?”

A shadow crossed her face for just a moment, her smile falling. Ian barely had time to register it, however, before she rallied. “Yeah, great! Everything’s fine.”

He narrowed his brows. “It’s not. Something’s wrong.”

“No, really, it’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine, he could tell, and he desperately wanted to fix that. “What is it, Rose? If you tell me, maybe I could lend a hand. Besides, I was going to be your sounding board, remember?”

She gave a wan smile. “Yeah. I remember.”

They were silent for a second, then Ian reached across the table and poked the back of her hand. Just that minor touch sent reverberations up his arm and down his spine - reverberations he tried to ignore. For now. 

“Go on, then. Tell me.”

Rose gave a huge sigh. “It’s nothing terrible, I suppose. I just need to do more business, and I’m not quite sure how to go about that.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean,” she started, not looking up from where her finger was tracing the pattern of the wood grain on the table and flushing a little, “I’m just barely breaking even. I need to get more customers in the store in order to turn a profit.”

“Well, what have you thought of?”

“I want to start having more little events sometime soon, but I haven’t decided on what yet. The simplest thing would probably be to just have a story hour for children a couple times a week, but I want to draw adults in, too. I established one book club, they just met for the first time yesterday.”

“You could do more than one,” Ian suggested, taking a sip of his coffee. “One club that reads fiction, one that reads history, one that reads science fiction, shit like that.”

She grinned. “I had wondered about that. I’m having a hard time coming up with anything else I could do, though. I’d like to remodel a bit, add some cushy chairs and make it a more comfortable space to sit and read, but I need money for that, first.” Rose sighed. “I suppose I should just be happy with what I’ve already come up with and implement that before I get ahead of myself. It’s much more than what my dad was doing, anyway.”

“Why don’t you do something you would be interested in, yourself? Something to do with poetry? You could do readings, or even contests,” Ian suggested. “Or if you worked with Jack and Ianto, you could turn it into some sort of open mic night, maybe add some music.”

She looked at him blankly for a second and Ian started backpedaling. “It was just a thought…”

Rose’s smile was like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. “I love it,” she told him. “That’s brilliant. All of it, brilliant.”

“Yeah?” 

She nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely. Oh, I just love it.”

Ian thought he probably looked rather goofy in that moment, he was smiling so big, but couldn’t give less of a fuck. Rose looked delighted, and he was delighted, too.

“You’ll be here for it, though, right?” she asked, sounding hopeful, catching him off guard.

“I, uh…”

Rose flushed to the roots of her hair. “I’m sorry. That was me being presumptuous again. I seem to do that a lot with you…”

“Well, it works out just fine in this case, because I fully intend to be there if you do it when I’m not working. I’ll even provide the sound equipment for you to use.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that --”

“I want to,” he cut her off. “Any way I can help, I’d like to.”

She gave him an odd look. “You’re really sweet. You know that?”

“You take that right the fuck back,” he demanded, pretending affront. In actuality, he was thrilled. 

“Nothing doing,” she giggled. “You’re nothing like what I pegged you to be that first day.” 

Ian groaned a little. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about that day?”

Rose just giggled again. “You’re right. I’m sorry. How’s your work?”

“Boring.”

“Oh, I can’t imagine that. You’re working with the Nestene Consciousness!”

Ian scoffed. “They’re like a bunch of shop dummies,” he told her. “But we’re a little over halfway through. With any luck, we’ll wrap up next week.”

“Brilliant! Does that mean you’ll be back in here for coffee?”

“Absolutely, if you want,” he said, doing his best not to combust with excitement. 

Rose just blushed and he was pleased with that response. For the moment. 

Suddenly remembering the scrawled message that was usually on his coffee, Ian covertly slid the sleeve of his cup down and read what Jack had left for him. 

_She’s about to become a landlord. -J_

“Did I hear Jack right? You’re about to become a landlord?”

“Cor, I think I need to put a gag on that man’s mouth so he stops telling you all about me,” she complained good-naturedly, shooting a look over her shoulder at Jack and Ianto behind the counter. “Yes, there are two flats above the shop. I just moved into one, and the other was my Dad’s. I’m in the process of fixing it up so I can rent it out.”

“Oh?”

She nodded. “It’s been slow going so far, but I need to step up the pace. The extra income would be huge right now.”

Her face glowed bright red as if she’d said something embarrassing, but he couldn’t figure what. To break the silence, he volunteered, “Well, as I said, I should be finishing up in the chair sometime soon. I’ll be more than happy to help you whip the flat into shape, if you think it can wait a week or so.”

Rose raised an eyebrow at him. “You?”

He raised an eyebrow right back. “What about me?”

“I just didn’t see you as the home improvement type,” she shrugged. 

“There are hidden depths to me, Rose Tyler. I can wield a paint roller with the best of them,” he bragged, not mentioning that he’d done nothing of the sort since he was a teenager.

“Blimey,” Rose teased, her eyes wide but twinkling. “I’ve been having dinner with Mr. Fix-it.”

Ian shook his head, chuckling. “Cheeky little wretch,” he groused with his own twinkling eyes. “But seriously, I’d be more than happy to help you.”

“I very well may take you up on that, Mr. Docherty,” she smiled, then raised up in her seat to peer into his tray. “Are you done?”

“I am.”

“Good. I have a surprise for you.”

Before he could question her, she had taken off towards the counter, catching Ianto’s attention. The other man smiled knowingly, making Rose flush, then went to the cooler and came back with a small box. Rose thanked him and made her way back to the table, smiling, setting the box down in front of him. 

“What is this?” he asked, genuinely confused. 

“Open it.”

He did, and was surprised to see a large cupcake inside the box. It was chocolate with icing that was swirled with dark blue, rich purple, and a hint of pink, and on top of the icing were tiny silver balls. 

“Edible ball bearings,” Rose said excitedly. “They’re meant to look like stars… it’s supposed to look like space.”

He finally looked up at her. “What is this for?”

“Well,” she began, her cheeks practically glowing, “you said tomorrow is your birthday. And since I won’t see you on the actual day, I figured I’d get you a little cake to celebrate the day before.”

“This is gorgeous, Rose. Thank you,” he told her, doing his best not to dissolve into a little puddle on the floor. 

“You’re welcome. I’m sorry I didn’t have a candle in it, I thought you may never come back if I had everyone sing to you.”

There was nothing she could ever do that would make him want to never come back, but he played along. “Too fucking right. You’re getting to know me very well.” 

“Well go on, then,” she encouraged him, her face bright and happy. “Eat your cupcake!”

“Only if you share it with me,” he told her on impulse. “It’s too big for me to eat on my own. I’ll go get two forks and we can split it.”

She flushed adorably again. “If that’s what you want.”

Sharing his birthday with Rose Tyler? Sharing _any_ day with Rose Tyler?

“Yeah. That’s what I want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your well wishes! The hurricane seems to have gone out of its way to miss us and we’re only expecting rain and wind, no outages. Thank you!!


	11. Chapter 11

23 April 2016

Recording had finished with the Nestene Consciousness late Tuesday night, and Ian had been delighted to be able to surprise Rose on Wednesday afternoon by showing up at their regular time for coffee. She’d been visibly excited and flustered, further cementing his belief that she was attracted to him, and they’d spent the better part of the afternoon together. He’d listened attentively while she told him about the events she was planning and implementing for the shop, including an open mic night that was scheduled for a week away. She’d also mentioned the work she needed to do to her father’s flat, and Ian had once again volunteered to help. Together, they’d made plans to spend Sunday finishing up the painting that was, apparently, the last hurdle to Rose letting the flat. He was a little discouraged to learn that Jack and Ianto had offered to help, as well, but wasn’t about to give up the opportunity to spend the afternoon with her. 

When he was leaving that day, he’d asked when he could see her again, feeling very much like a teenager on a date and not wanting to wait until Sunday unless he absolutely had to. Rose, that precious girl, had flushed and told him to come back whenever he liked. It had sprung to his lips to tell her he’d likely never leave, given the option, but he’d managed to refrain from baring his soul. Instead, he’d offered to come back on Friday, figuring that forty-eight hours would be the absolute maximum amount of time he’d be able to go without seeing her, now that he could. She’d agreed with her tongue between her teeth. 

On Friday, yesterday, he’d showed up a little earlier than expected with lunch. She’d seemed thrilled that he’d done so, and the two of them had enjoyed the time together, chatting and laughing. Everything he learned about her made him just that much more attracted to her, and he could feel himself spiraling farther and farther under her spell - a spell she quite likely had no idea she was casting. He relished every second with her and couldn’t wait to see her again on Sunday. 

The time he wasn’t with her was being put to good use. He’d written two more songs, bringing him to a total of five, and he was now convinced that Rose was the key to his songwriting success. The songs were a bit of a departure from his usual sound, just a bit softer, but that was Rose’s effect on him. She softened him… it stood to reason she’d soften everything _about_ him. 

Well, he amended to himself, thinking of several long nights, she softened _most_ of him.

Now he stood on the doorstep of his best friend’s house on Saturday night, bouncing a little. He’d been looking forward to having dinner with Fergus and Osgood, and wondered for the first time about introducing them to Rose sometime in the future. 

The door swung open and Fergus stood there, grinning brightly. 

“Bampot! Glad you made it!” He stepped aside, opening the door wider, and Ian went inside.

“Of course I made it,” Ian scoffed. “You told me there’d be souvlaki.”

“There wouldn’t be, except Oz keeps chasing me out of the kitchen. Says I have to save some for you.”

He snorted. “My thanks to Osgood, then. How’ve you been?”

“Can’t complain,” Fergus remarked. “Can I get you a beer? Oz picked up some of that ale you like when I told her you were coming.”

“God bless Oz. That sounds great,” he said, then followed Fergus into the kitchen. A brunette woman wearing tan trousers and a tan jumper was standing at the cooker, stirring something in a pan, her brown ponytail waving a bit with her movements. Ian smiled when he saw her. 

“Hello, Osgood,” he greeted her, and the woman turned around with a smile. Her eyes sparkled behind her thick-rimmed glasses and her smile was bright. 

“Ian. I’m so glad you came… it’s been too long.”

“Since January,” he agreed, kissing the cheek she had turned up for him. “We won’t go that long again.”

“Could go longer next time,” Fergus suggested, handing Ian an opened beer and smirking. “It was damned peaceful without you banging on all the time.”

His girlfriend gave him a withering look before she turned back to the cooker, but Ian just snorted and took a sip of his beer. He and Fergus had been ribbing each other like this since they were in their early teens, but neither of them meant anything by it. They were closer than brothers and the bullshit they gave each other was just their own way of showing affection. 

“So, Ian,” Osgood started from where she was cooking, “I hear you have a new girlfriend.”

Ian choked a little on his swallow of ale, but recovered fairly quickly. “Where did you hear that?”

“From me, of course,” Fergus beamed. “That’s juicy news. Entirely too big not to share.”

“It is rather big news,” Osgood agreed. “In the four years I’ve known you, you’ve never had a girlfriend.”

“And I don’t now,” he admitted. Unhelpfully, his brain supplied, _At least, not yet._ He cleared his throat and went on. “We’ve been talking, that’s all.”

“That’s not all,” Fergus snorted. “You’ve been going to her shop three times a week, and when you were recording, you took breaks just to see her.”

He couldn’t deny that.

“This girl’s name is Rose?” Osgood asked. 

“Yes. Rose Tyler.”

“And she owns a bookshop?”

“That’s right, Bad Wolf Books, in Notting Hill. Her father owned it until he died and left it to her to run. She was a graphic designer in her previous life.”

“How does she feel about…” Osgood made a gesture that indicated all of him and waited for him to answer. 

“About what?”

“About you?”

He flushed a little. “I’m reasonably certain she’s attracted to me, as well.” 

“Good, but that’s not what I meant. How does she feel about you being the Doctor?”

It felt a bit like a shock of cold water and although the answer was easy, he struggled to make it come out. “She doesn’t know.”

Osgood turned around from her task of putting food on plates to do the same. “ _She doesn’t know_?”

“No. I haven’t told her.”

“I tried to tell you,” Fergus interjected, but was ignored.

“And she hasn’t figured you out?”

“No. Why would she? I’m just some bloke who comes into her shop.”

“You have to tell her, Ian,” Fergus said, and his voice was almost stern, certainly more serious than Ian was used to hearing from his best friend.

“No, I fucking don’t! I rather like her just thinking of me as ‘Ian’, ta. Do you know how fucking long it’s been since I was just ‘Ian’ to anyone but you lot?”

“That’s not the point,” Osgood pointed out. “By keeping this from her, whether you mean to or not, you’re deceiving her. You’re _not_ just a regular bloke, and she’s likely to be a bit wrong-footed when she finds out. Better to tell her now than later.”

“I don’t want her to treat me any differently,” Ian muttered.

“If she’s as good as you say, she probably won’t,” Fergus pointed out. 

He fought the urge to snort. Rose was better than anything he’d said about her. She was damn near perfect. 

Osgood sat down and looked at Ian almost imploringly. “Can I give you some free advice you can take or leave?”

“About Rose? Sure, why the hell not.”

“If I had been in her place, I would want to know. I knew Graham was famous when I met him and it was still a little overwhelming, coming to be a part of that life.” She hesitated for a second. “I assume you’re wanting to date her…?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I want to date her, whatever the fuck that means.”

“Well, I can tell you, it’s going to mean something different for you. You’re world-famous, have sold millions of records, and are a household name. That’s a lot to bring to the table - especially for someone who’s not in the same industry.”

“You and I lead different lives from most other, normal blokes, Ian,” Fergus supplied. “It takes some getting used to.”

“What should I do?” he asked, genuinely at a loss. 

“Do what Oz said: be honest with her. Tell her about who you are and how that impacts your life.”

“She already knows that I have to be gone for work fairly frequently. I told her that just after we met.”

“Yes, but does she know that your being ‘gone for work’ involves months of traveling around the world with women screaming and throwing themselves at you?”

Ian was brought up short. He hadn’t given much thought to the logistics of _actually_ dating Rose, he’d just been enjoying the attraction and flirtation. The day-to-day realities of his life and job when juxtaposed with her life and job hadn’t really crossed his mind. But Fergus and Osgood were right. There was a lot to think about. 

“And when you _do_ tell her,” Osgood was saying, “you might want to caution against her searching for you online too much.”

“Why?”

“Because some of your fans are certifiable. Obsessive. They Photoshop pictures of you, write stories about you, and a lot of it is stuff no woman would like to see or read about her bloke.”

This was news to Ian. “They do _what_?”

“Think of it as the digital equivalent of groupies,” Fergus suggested. “The women who throw knickers and chase you around all have computers.”

“And then there are tours and whatnot, when you’re around _actual_ groupies,” Osgood said. “It takes a woman who is extremely secure in her bloke and relationship for that not to bother her. I trust Graham implicitly, I know he would never cheat, and it still bothers me sometimes.”

Ian sat back in his chair, rubbing his forehead, heaving a great sigh. Bloody hell. Maybe he should rethink everything. 

Osgood leaned across the table and put her hand on Ian’s. “I’m not trying to discourage you, Ian. According to Graham, you’re happier than he’s seen you in years when you’re talking about this woman, and that’s wonderful.”

“She does make me happy,” Ian admitted, feeling a bit defeated. “I… I can’t explain it. She’s different from every other woman I’ve ever met. I’m writing fucking love songs, for fuck’s sake!”

“Then pursue her,” Osgood said, squeezing his hand. 

“How could I do that to her? Inflict this life on her?”

“You won’t be inflicting anything on her, it’s not like you’re sentencing her to some huge punishment by being with her or anything. This isn’t a bad life, it’s just different. If she makes you this happy, then I’m sure the two of you could have a fantastic relationship, despite the hurdles. Look at Graham and me. I just want you to make sure she enters whatever relationship she has with you with her eyes wide open.”

Ian sighed.

“When do you see her again?”

“Tomorrow. I’m helping her paint her dad’s flat so she can let it.”

Fergus raised an eyebrow. “You? Doing housework?”

Ian glowered at him. “Shut it, you.”

Osgood ignored both of them. “Tell her tomorrow. If not tomorrow, tell her soon. She needs to know, Ian.”

He nodded, accepting her words, then sighed again. The absolute least he owed her was to be honest. But bloody hell, he didn’t want to tell her who he was and ruin everything. 

What Fergus and Osgood had told him reverberated around in his mind for the rest of the night and woke him the next morning. Thinking about Rose was not unusual for him, not anymore, but thinking about the logistics of actually pursuing a relationship with her was new territory. He wanted to give the subject as much attention as it warranted - this was too important to fuck up.

Ian struggled with what to wear to help Rose paint, even though it should have been one of the easiest decisions he ever had to make. He should have just thrown on an old t-shirt and ratty denims, but he couldn’t figure out _what_ shirt to wear. He’d never made a habit of wearing his own face, and finally settled on a shirt from a fundraiser he’d played fifteen years ago with a pair of plaid trousers he’d never particularly liked. He figured that it would be an easy way to start the conversation if Rose asked about his shirt. Finally content with his decision, he threw on a jacket and left his flat to meet Rose at hers. 

She greeted him at the door wearing an oversize t-shirt and baggy denims that were rolled up to her mid-calf with her hair in a ponytail on top of her head. Ian was dumbfounded, taking her in. She should have looked terrible, but she was so achingly cute he couldn’t stand it. He wondered what she’d look like in a glittering gown, on his arm to attend some awards show, and quickly pushed away that train of thought. He could barely withstand her beauty when she wore baggy clothes and her hair was in a messy ponytail. He’d quite likely fall to her feet in solemn worship if he ever saw her dressed to kill. 

“Hi,” he managed to get out, quite intelligently.

“Hi! Would you like to come in? I just need to get my shoes on.”

“Absolutely,” Ian agreed, and went into her flat, looking around. It was small, and he would guess that there was likely only one bedroom. A couple of boxes sat around, but otherwise, things were very tidy. Nothing looked to be expensive or high-end, but had been well-cared-for. 

“Sorry for the mess,” Rose apologized almost airily, going to the couch to sit down with her shoes. “I’m still unpacking some things, when I can find the time.”

“It’s fine,” he told her. “You don’t need to worry about impressing me.”

_I find you impressive enough._

She just smiled at him, setting his pulse to race, then bent to tie her shoes. Once she was done, she sat up and slapped her knees. “Ready?”

“Ready, Miss Tyler.”

“Let’s go.”

~*~O~*~

Rose had hoped that seeing Ian in messy clothes would be some sort of deterrent for this crush she had on him, but it wasn’t. Not one bit. He was still as gorgeous as ever, maybe even more so now that he was taking time out of his schedule to help her. Surely he must have other, more important things to do than spend a sunny afternoon helping her paint, but he seemed perfectly content to be there with her. _She_ was certainly perfectly content with the situation. 

It hadn’t occurred to her when she invited him that before Jack and Ianto got there they’d be all alone together. Until now, they’d always had people surrounding them when they spent time with one another, but now there was no buffer and it was just the two of them. It felt incredibly intimate, somehow, being all alone with him. 

She loved it and would have been perfectly happy for Jack and Ianto to cancel. 

Despite the fact that painting was a terribly mundane task, they were having a grand time together. They talked about nothing and everything while music played from the small radio plugged into the kitchen, and it occurred to Rose that just about every time she’d caught herself having fun in the last few months, she’d been with Ian. 

“So when do you have to record again?” she asked to break out of her own thoughts. 

“I’m not entirely sure. Sometime in the next couple of months. I’ll have to go to Paris, this time.”

“Oooh, Paris,” Rose cooed. “I’ve never been there.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t?”

“Nope,” she shook her head. “When I was young we didn’t have the money for expensive holidays. It was all we could do to get by from month to month. When it came down to buying groceries or going somewhere fun, buying groceries won pretty much every time.” She suddenly realized what she’d said, who she’d said it to, and flushed brightly, trying to backpedal. “I mean, we had fun, don’t get me wrong…”

“It’s fine, Rose,” Ian assured her, putting his hand on her shoulder. She felt his touch reverberate down her arm and to the tips of her fingers. “I grew up without a lot of money. I’m well aware of how that life works.”

She was still humiliated, but the kindness in his voice soothed that somewhat. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he smiled. The look lingered for a moment and she blinked, flushing for a new reason, looking down at her roller then going back to paint. Ian did the same, but asked, “Why didn’t you go when you were older? Same reason?”

“Kind of. First was uni, and I was a broke student. Then when I graduated and got a job, I was so focused on starting a career, I didn’t have time to play tourist.” She snorted a little. “I’ve never even seen most of the sights in London, and I’ve lived here my whole life. Probably pretty pathetic, huh?”

“Not at all,” he assured her. “I’ve never seen most of the sights in London, either.”

She stopped painting to look at him incredulously. “You haven’t?”

He shook his head. “No. Like you, I was always focused on my career. Plus, I only moved here five years ago. Sightseeing by yourself is no fucking fun, so I’ve never bothered to go to the Tower or the London Eye or any of that.”

Before she could stop herself, she said, “Maybe we should go together. See the sights, that is.”

He stopped rolling and grinned at her. “I think that’s a fucking brilliant idea. We most certainly should, Rose Tyler.”

Once again, Rose flushed, and she went back to painting silently. She had no idea where that burst of bravado had come from, but it seemed to have worked out nicely. 

“Are you ready for the open mic night?” 

Rose nodded, pushing her roller up and down the wall in front of her. “I think so. There’s not much to do, at least not until that day. I’ve printed up flyers and have been sticking them in people’s bags and putting it on the sandwich board in front of the shop to help advertise.”

“That’s good, should help drum up some business. Are Jack and Ianto excited about it?”

“They seem to be, although I can’t imagine why. It’s going to inconvenience them terribly.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” Ian told her. “They volunteered to do it and there’s not that much that will have to be done. It’s going to help them, too, you know.”

“I know,” she admitted. “I just hate to put people out.”

He gave her a look. “Put people out how?”

She shrugged. “I just feel bad when people inconvenience themselves to help me get on my feet.”

“Nobody minds, Rose. And besides, we’d all rather throw in and help you than see you suffer.”

Tears of embarrassment pricked her eyes but she blinked them back. “I’m just looking forward to being able to pay you guys back, is all.”

“You don’t owe any of us anything,” he insisted. She didn’t respond so he put his hand on her arm to stop her painting. “I’m here because I fucking _want_ to be here, Rose.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I don’t feel obligated to help you get your dad’s flat ready to let. I just want to.”

She sniffed, blinking the tears back again. “You’re too sweet to me.”

“Oi. There’s no need for name calling,” he teased.

Rose laughed. Idly, she reached up to wipe her cheek, feeling something smear. Her suspicions were confirmed when Ian burst out laughing. 

“I got it all over myself, didn’t I?” she asked, pulling her hand back and seeing that there was, indeed, white paint on her fingers. 

“Just a bit,” he agreed, beaming. “It’s a good look for you, though. You should go around like that.”

“Oh ha, ha,” she deadpanned, trying not to laugh. Then she had an idea. “Let’s see how it looks on _you_!”

Before he could react, she’d brought her hand up to his cheek and smeared the paint above his beard. That shut him up and he gaped at her. 

“I can’t fucking believe you did that.”

“That’s what you get for laughing at a lady in her moment of distress.”

Ian snorted, then dipped his finger into the paint without a word and brought it up to boop Rose’s nose.

“Oi!”

“Figured if you were going to be distressed about having paint on you, you should at least have a good _amount_ of paint on you.”

“Why you…” Rose giggled and retaliated, smearing his arm. Ian didn’t miss a beat and smeared her other cheek. Within seconds, the rollers were dropped, forgotten, and Ian and Rose were playfully attacking each other with paint-covered hands in a cloud of laughter. Little smears and partial handprints appeared on their clothes, faces, and arms.

“Oi! That doesn’t need any white added to it!” he declared when Rose reached for his hair, and he grabbed her around the waist, pulling her body against his. Their new positions didn’t register with Rose right away and her arms were still above his head. His blue-green eyes darkened and she felt his hands on her back, one at her waist and one just above it. His grip was loose but somehow still firm, and nothing had ever felt as right in her life. 

Her giggle died and her arms lowered, automatically going around Ian’s neck. Without thinking, she played with the little hairs on the back of his head while she searched his face. Her heart was pounding so hard she felt sure he could hear it, but if he did, he gave no indication. His eyes flickered from her lips to her eyes then back down, and she barely had time to wonder if he was going to kiss her before he was lowering his head, his eyes closed. She closed her eyes, turning her face up, waiting for his kiss, and she was sure her heart stopped when she felt his breath against her lips. 

“Rosie! We’re here!”

In an instant, she and Ian had separated - and not a moment too soon. Jack and Ianto came striding into the empty bedroom with bright smiles on their faces. “Oh, are we interrupting something?” Jack asked, his eyes dancing with mischief. 

“No, we were just talking,” Rose lied, willing her heartbeat to slow down, refusing to look at Ian. He’d almost kissed her! She’d almost kissed him! If Jack hadn’t come in right at that second, they’d be locked in a kiss right this moment!

_Dammit, Jack!_

“Just talking. Uh-huh,” Jack smirked, earning an elbow from Ianto. “That’s why you both have handprints all over you?”

Rose didn’t look up at Ian to see his reaction, not even when she felt him lean down beside her to pick up his roller. Her face was probably a brilliant shade of red, she knew, and she had no idea what to say.

Thankfully, Ianto saved them. “So! Where do you want us?”

 _Away,_ Rose thought, then sighed and bent to pick up her own roller. It was probably for the best they’d been interrupted. She wasn’t his type, anyway. 

The rest of the afternoon was fun, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to make eye contact with Ian, and her mood had been more than a little dampened by the thought that he was probably glad to have been interrupted. He’d just gotten caught up in the heat of the moment, that’s all. There was nothing to it. 

She spent days trying to convince herself of that.


	12. Chapter 12

30 April 2016

Ian was lost in thought, absently fiddling with a melody he’d had in his mind for the last few days. It was pretty enough, especially when he played it on Idris, his acoustic cutaway PRS. There were no lyrics as of yet, merely thoughts that flitted around in his brain - half formed ideas and fragments of phrases. The notes coming from Idris were calling to mind a feeling of uncertainty, of wanting, of being unsure of oneself. Which made sense, because that was exactly how he was feeling. 

After the events of last Sunday, he had no doubt that Rose wanted him, too. Ian wasn’t an expert on picking up womens’ subtle signals - they’d always kind of just thrown themselves at him before - but even he could read the signals Rose had been sending out. And while there had been no more near-miss kisses since then, looks had been lingering and hands had brushed when exchanging coffee or books. There was _definitely_ something between them.

He should have been encouraged - and he was - but something was giving him pause. Something made him feel uncertain. He suspected it was likely the warning that Fergus and Osgood had given him when he visited them. He didn’t want to complicate or add stress to Rose’s life - Lord knew she was already struggling to keep her head above water with the shop. Further, he suspected that she may not allow herself to be with him while she was still struggling, choosing instead to focus on her work - which would be understandable, but frustrating for him. Possibly unacceptable. 

Ian wanted to make _everything_ better for her, and it killed him that he couldn’t just snap his fingers and make her problems disappear the way he would with most situations as the Doctor. He’d gotten used to making things happen around him whenever he wanted them to happen, and not being able to do that now was horribly frustrating. 

A couple of lines broke through into his mind:  
 _Stay with me, tonight and always_  
 _Let me be the slayer of your dragons_

He reached for the pad of paper he’d been keeping handy lately and jotted them down. Then he leaned back, laying his head against the back of his couch, and ran the hand that wasn’t holding Idris in place down his face, sighing. 

The phone went off beside him and he looked at it hopefully before picking it up. It wasn’t Rose, it was Clara. He pressed the little green button to answer the call and greeted her in the usual way.

“The fuck do you want?”

“What are you doing?”

“It’s time for my afternoon wank. Call back in five minutes?”

She ignored him, just as he’d known she would. “I was calling to let you know the Courtesans have set a date for recording. You’re to be in Paris in two weeks. The studio is booked for three weeks, but, of course, you may not take that long.”

Ian groaned out loud. He’d known this was coming, but he’d hoped he’d have more time. “Is there any way out of this gig? It’s a bad fucking time.”

“Got your mojo back, do you?”

He thought of Rose and the inexplicable fact that she wanted him. “Got something back, alright,” he muttered, then, louder and gruffer, “and don’t call it fucking mojo!”

“Seriously,” she pressed him. “Are you writing?”

“Sitting on my fucking couch now with Idris in my lap.”

Clara squealed and he couldn’t stop the corner of his mouth from quirking up. For all that she was a pain in his ass, he was rather fond of her. 

“How much have you got?” she asked.

“Seven scratch tracks, fragments of about three more songs.”

“That’s not enough,” she told him.

“I fucking know that,” he snapped. 

“You know you need at least twenty to cut a demo, then separate the wheat from the chaff.”

“I’m well aware --”

“I put Gallifrey off by telling them you were going to be recording an album. If you don’t…”

“Yeah, thanks, Clara. I’ve no fucking idea how this business works.”

“Oi. Don’t get stroppy with me. I’m just doing my job and trying to get you what you want.”

_Can’t get me Rose, can you?_

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know.”

“Just… whatever you’re doing that’s getting you writing, keep doing it.”

Rose’s face flashed before his eyes. “Yeah. Will do.”

“I’ve not accepted any firm offers for you to go into the chair other than with the Courtesans, since you’ve been working on your own stuff. But I suspect you might get called in for emergencies. I’m leaving you open to those.”

“It’s going to have to be fucking Aerosmith or some shit before I agree to do that.”

“I know. Just… leave yourself open to it.”

Ian set Idris off to the side and scrubbed his face again. “Yeah, alright, fucking fine.”

“Fantastic,” Clara said happily, and Ian rolled his eyes. “I’ll ring you sometime in the next week or so, see how your writing is coming.”

“I’m looking forward to being checked up on like I’m a fucking toddler,” he snarked.

Clara chuckled. “Talk to you soon, Doctor.”

He pushed the red button without saying goodbye, then laid his head back against the couch again, staring at the ceiling. In all the hubbub around Rose, he’d almost forgotten about going to France - and he’d thought he’d have more time than he did. Two weeks from now! It was so soon, and so fucking inconvenient. It wouldn’t be as easy to knock off recording a few hours early and head to the bookshop while he was in Paris, nor would taking Sundays off make much of a difference. He was going to have to go a minimum of two weeks without seeing Rose. Just thinking about it made him miserable, and he’d seen her yesterday with plans to see her tonight for the open mic. He didn’t want to think about what it would be like when he hadn’t seen her in days and didn’t know when he’d be done. 

Getting to his feet, he crossed the room to put Idris on her stand, then stretched. He’d been sitting in that corner of the couch since just after lunch and now it was - oof. It was four o’clock. He needed to get his arse in gear.

He headed towards his bathroom, intending to take a shower. Once there, he reached into the stall and twisted the knobs, then started shedding his clothes while the water heated up. As soon as he was naked, he moved to stand in front of the mirror, ignoring the steam starting to billow out of the stall. He turned his face this way and that, assessing his eyes, his nose, and the scruff he’d only grown in the last couple of months but rather liked. He wasn’t much to look at, he didn’t think, but that had never slowed him down, especially when he was younger. The Doctor fairly oozed sex appeal. Ian Docherty was just a bloke.

What on Earth did Rose see in him, anyway? She must have thought _something_ about him was attractive. He slid his hand across his chest, noting the grey mixed into his smattering of hair and the way his skin moved with his hand a little more than it used to. Nothing at all had been grey and nothing had been that loose, either, ten years ago. Back then, everything had been a lot more firm. 

His gaze dropped to the insistent appendage between his legs and he scowled at it. _That_ , at least, was just as firm as it ever was. It almost always was when he thought of her. And he thought of her _a lot_. Honestly, his cock was getting to be a goddamn nuisance. 

Resolving to ignore it, he opened the door to his shower and stepped in. He grabbed the shampoo and started washing his hair…

His mind went to images of Rose, naked in his shower, rivulets of soapy water running down her body, sluicing between her breasts -- 

Ian shook his head to clear it of wayward thoughts and excess water. He reached for the soap and started washing himself…

Suddenly Rose was back, taking the soap from him and running her hands all over his skin…

“Quit being a fucking lecher,” he growled at himself, then did his best to think of other things. 

It didn’t work. His mind was full of Rose, and her pressing her wet, naked body against his. He could almost feel her breasts rubbing against his skin and groaned.

Giving in, he dropped the soap and fisted his cock, closing his eyes so it was easier to pretend it wasn’t _his_ hand gliding up and down his shaft slowly. His strokes became faster and he added a twist of his wrist while he imagined Rose going onto her knees and taking him into her lush mouth. Ian heard himself moan a little but couldn’t care, too lost in his fantasy for any other thought. 

Blindly, he raised his free arm and propped himself against the wall, supporting himself against the tiles. His hand pumped his cock faster now, harder, and his breathing got ragged as he felt the pressure start to build. In his mind’s eye, Rose had gotten to her feet and turned around, bent at the waist, offering herself to him. He wasted no time before slamming into her, driving himself in and out, muttering curses, praise, and little groans. 

“Rose.” He whimpered her name when he was close, bending over her back in his fantasy. “My Rose…” 

She turned her head to kiss him --

The touch of her lips sent him careening over the edge, calling her name on a strangled cry.

~*~O~*~

Ian smiled when he walked into the bookshop two hours later and caught sight of Rose. She was with a customer and didn’t notice him right away, so he took advantage of the time to watch her, to take her in. 

She was gorgeous, absolutely stunning. Just standing behind the counter in a jumper and jeans, she should not have been so appealing. But she fucking was. She really, really was. 

Rose was smiling at the customer as she handed over the newly bagged books and the woman took them. Turning her head, Rose caught sight of him and her smile changed. It was brighter, warmer, less plastic and - adorably - her cheeks flushed. Ian felt himself relax a little under her gaze, even as he fell a little farther for her. 

“Hi!” 

“Hi,” he replied. “Are you ready for tonight? It all gets started soon.”

“I know!” she enthused, happy. “And I’ve already had more customers today!” 

_Fuck, she’s cute._

“Meet you over there in a minute?”

“I’ll get us a coffee and start setting up,” he agreed, then went into Torchwood when she turned around to go find Donna. Setting up would take less than five minutes - he had brought his Magpie amp, a mic, and stand down to the shop the day before (creating another excuse to see Rose) - but Ian sensed that Rose would appreciate him getting things ready to go as quickly as possible. So he went to the counter to fetch the amp and mic, ordering his and Rose’s coffee at the same time. 

“When are you going to ask our girl out?” Jack demanded while Ianto brought the equipment to the counter. 

“I’m not --”

“Oh, please,” Ianto cut in. “Spare us. I know the two of you were kissing when we got there Sunday. Those were guilty looks you two had, and you _certainly_ weren’t painting. Except maybe each other.”

Ian’s mind raced. He could deny part of their charge, but not all of it. He’d be a liar if he denied that he was all gone for her, a fact which never would have bothered him before. But he found he didn’t want to lie about Rose. She was too important. What else was he supposed to say?

Thankfully, Jack and Ianto didn’t seem to require an answer. “Just ask her out.”

“Ask her out to do fucking what?”

Ianto and Jack both shrugged. “A movie? Out for drinks? Something. She’s been a little dispirited lately when you’re not around.”

“Really?” he asked, looking over into the empty archway that led to the Bad Wolf. “She’s seemed fine with me.”

The other men chuckled. “Of course she’s been fine with you,” Jack told him. “She fancies you like mad, and that’s what’s got her acting so oddly. So go ahead and ask her out and put us all out of our misery.”

Despite his suspicions, Ian was stunned. He hadn’t expected anyone _else_ to pick up on her being attracted to him. Did that mean he was so easy to read, as well? He recovered quickly enough and shook his head, muttering. “You’ve fucking cracked, mate.”

“Have we?” Jack challenged with a raised eyebrow. “Look, you don’t have to listen to me. Just think about it. You can’t tell me you’re not interested in her.” Ian started to protest, but Jack held up a hand. “Please. Don’t insult me. I’m something of an expert at things like this.”

“It’s true,” Ianto piped up. “He is. It’s uncanny.”

Ian just looked at both of them, then shook his head again. “Fucking barmy.”

“Ask her,” Jack encouraged. “I’ll bet you the entire contents of my till that she’ll say yes.”

From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Rose poking her head through the archway. “We’ll see,” he said absently, distracted, and missed the exchanged smirk between Jack and Ianto when he turned to go to her. 

“Is there anything I can help do?” she asked, twisting her hands.

Ian handed her her coffee. “You can sit down and relax for a few minutes while I plug in. Won’t take a minute.”

“I don’t think I can relax right now. I’m too nervous!”

“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” he told her. “It’s going to be lovely. Now sit,” he ordered her. “I’ve got this.”

It took longer to move the table than to set up the amp and microphone, and Rose was still blowing on her coffee when he went to join her. “There. We’re all ready to go. Have you got the sign-up sheet?”

“It’s at the counter. More people than I thought have signed it.”

Ian nodded. Already the coffee shop was busier, seats filling with people, and the open mic wasn’t supposed to go live for another half an hour. Ian even spotted one bloke coming into Torchwood carrying a beat up guitar case. 

“I should get back into the shop,” Rose said, breaking into his thoughts. “Will you be here when it’s time for the open mic?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he confirmed. 

“Good,” she smiled, then flushed. “I’ll be back in just a few minutes.”

More and more people filed into Torchwood, wandering back and forth between the bookstore. Ian was pleased to see the turnout, especially seeing the people who carried a bag from the Bad Wolf, and when he turned to look, she was steadily working at the register, ringing up customers. He resolved to say something to her about hiring help, soon. She and Donna couldn’t do it on their own, not forever. 

Ian dropped the sleeve of his coffee to see what wisdom Jack had left him this time and laughed when he saw it. _Ask her out! -J_

If he only had the nerve...

At long last, the appointed hour rolled around and Rose came back into Torchwood, standing by the table, not sitting. “I guess I need to welcome everyone, huh?”

“Jack can do it,” Ian answered in a soothing tone. “Fuck, for that matter, I’ll do it if you want me to. Just let me know what you want.”

She gave him a brave smile. “I’ll do it. Be right back, yeah?” 

“Break a leg,” he told her as she walked to the mic, and she smiled over her shoulder at him. 

Rose tapped on the microphone when she got there to make sure it was on and there was a little feedback. It had the effect of catching everyone’s attention, though, and suddenly all eyes were on her. 

“Um, hello. Welcome to Torchwood Brew. My name is Rose Tyler, and I own Bad Wolf Books, just through that archway there. Welcome to our very first open mic night.”

There was a smattering of applause, led by Ian. Rose looked over at him and he smiled encouragingly. She smiled back. 

“I’m sure you lot know how an open mic night works, and the sign up sheet is here. You’re welcome to read poetry, a short story, or even perform a song. All we ask is that you give credit to the author of the work you’re performing, whether it be you or someone else.”

There was a murmur of assent and Ian smiled at her again when she looked over at him. 

“So let’s kick things off! Coming to the mic right now is... “ She looked down at the signup sheet. “Alex Walker.”

A young woman in flowy skirts got to her feet and went up front while Rose came back to sit by Ian. The woman started reading a short story she’d written, and Ian did his best to listen politely. There were murmured conversations around the coffee shop, but Ian sensed Rose was trying to set an example by being quiet and attentive. He could do the same. 

Next up was a young woman who read some Lord Byron, followed by a spotty-faced boy who read some Edgar Allen Poe. The man who followed him read an original work, then the next woman seemed to try to do a miniature stand-up routine, but it fell flat. Occasionally, people would stop by to speak to Rose, and the two of them chatted a bit between performers, but on the whole it was a quiet evening - and _terribly_ boring. Only the presence of Rose across from him made it bearable. 

As with all open mic nights Ian had ever been involved with, after a little while, the sign-up sheet no longer mattered and people started just taking turns to perform. There were a couple of repeat performances from people who had read or recited earlier in the night, and the moment Ian had been dreading and looking forward to came - the bloke with the guitar got up to play and sing. 

“This should be good,” Rose said, almost excited-sounding, and he gave her an incredulous look. 

“You think?”

“Yeah. I told you, I love live music.”

The young bloke, named Anthony, was rather good looking, Ian thought with a twinge of discomfort. He certainly had that ‘look’, and Ian’s eyes darted over to watch Rose watch him. Anthony perched himself on the stool provided and Ian grimaced when he started playing an old Oasis song. He wasn’t a _terrible_ player or singer, but Ian hoped the kid wouldn’t quit his day job, either. 

Rose seemed to be enjoying it and an intense feeling of jealousy welled up in him. He could play rings around this kid, sing rings around him, too. The only thing this kid had going for him was that he was good looking - and Rose’s age. 

Anthony finished Wonderwall and started another 90’s radio staple. Rose clapped, beaming, and Ian’s heart burned. He wanted her to clap for _him_. Nevermind he’d had the accolades of the whole world, at this moment, he wanted Rose’s applause for him and him alone. Fergus would be having a field day. 

When the young man finished, Ian surprised Rose (and himself) when he got to his feet and went to the microphone. He blasted himself the whole way there for showboating, but it seemed he was on autopilot. He had a whispered conversation with Anthony, asking to borrow the guitar, and there was a spark of recognition in the other man’s eyes. Ian prayed he wouldn’t say anything. 

Like lightning, he debated what song to play. He’d almost certainly out himself as the Doctor if he did one of his own songs, but he didn’t want to cop out and do a cover, either. Finally, he decided on playing one of the songs he’d recently written and recorded to scratch track. One of the songs he’d written for Rose. 

The beat up Fender was comfortable in his hands, and Ian played the gentle melody with ease. He didn’t dare look at Rose, he was afraid to see the look on her face while he played - nevermind that he was playing for her. 

“This is a song I wrote not long ago for a woman who captured my attention. She hasn’t given it back, either.”

The audience laughed a little, then after strumming through the intro, he started to sing. 

The lyrics spoke of a girl who seemed to be perfect, despite what she thought of herself. She was enchanting, bewitching his heart and mind, and he loved every moment of it. 

_I’ve been around enough to see_   
_and I’ve seen enough to know_   
_Not everybody has what you have_   
_Not everybody glows_

He gave more of himself to this performance than he had in longer than he could remember, but he honestly couldn’t have given less of a fuck what the rest of the crowd in the coffee shop thought of him. He was playing to an audience of one - one woman he was afraid to look at. 

_Your smile is all I ever need_   
_Please, my sweetheart, smile at me._

When the song finished and he’d laid his heart bare in front of this room of strangers and the one person that mattered, he finally chanced a glance at Rose. There were spots of pink high on her cheeks, but she looked pleased. It seemed his message had gotten through loud and clear - and she seemed delighted. He smiled at her and she beamed back, biting her lip. 

Jack clapped him on the shoulder and nodded to where Rose sat. “Go get her,” he said in a low voice, so as not to be overheard by the microphone, and Ian nodded. He handed the guitar back to Anthony then made his way to Rose’s table while Jack dismissed the crowd. 

“That was… that was gorgeous,” Rose told him when he sat down. 

Ian jumped straight to the point. “Would you like to get a drink with me?”

Rose raised her head, her eyes wide and full of surprise and questions, then gestured towards the coffee. 

“No,” Ian said, “I meant go to a pub or something.” His heart was pounding in his chest with the fear that he’d done the wrong thing, that he’d been reading her wrong, that Jack had been way off. The longer she watched him quietly, the more his panic increased until he started scrambling for the right words to take it back. 

“Look, I --”

“Tonight?”

He blinked, not sure what to make of her question. “Uh, if you want to. Any night, really. It was just an idea. We don’t have to -”

“There’s a pub three blocks away.”

“There is,” he agreed. 

“Finish your coffee, and we’ll go get a beer.”

Ian did as instructed.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday to TimeLadyoftheSith!

30 April 2016 (cont)

There was no way Ian would ever be able to calculate all the hours he’d spent in pubs during his life. Being a musician - and a Scotsman - he supposed they should be practically a second home for him. But for all the time he’d spent there, he’d never been particularly fond of them. Pubs and clubs had always seemed like a meat market to him: young women dressed up and flirting, men appreciating their efforts and flirting back. More often than not, the patrons all seemed to be on the pull, and their attempts to hook up were frequently fueled by alcohol more than desire. Once he hadn’t had a need to, he’d rarely darkened the door of any pub, unless he was with Fergus at the Fox and Badger. Frankly, he had no idea what had possessed him to ask Rose to get a drink tonight instead of any of the other things he could have asked her, but here they were. 

This wasn’t so bad, he supposed. He’d certainly been in worse dives, and at least he was here with Rose. That alone made the discomfort of the situation completely bearable. But the old familiar apprehension about being recognized crept up on him - he did _not_ want to be recognized while he was with Rose. The bloke at the open mic night had been a close enough call. He needed to tell her - and he would, he planned to soon - but being recognized would take away any control he had over the situation when he did so. He’d be at the mercy of one of his fans, and _that_ was a little bit of a terrifying thought. 

Thank God for the scruff on his chin and the glasses he happened to be wearing tonight that disguised him a bit. That should help. But beyond that, there was nothing he could do except try to choose a corner booth, out of the way. 

He didn’t quite get a corner booth, but he did get a booth and, to his surprise, Rose slid in beside him and not across from him, hiding him from view just a bit. She was in close proximity again, close enough that he could smell her shampoo over the musty, yeasty scent of ale and lager. It made the idea of being in this bar much more pleasant. 

“So!” he started, sounding a bit more chipper in his own ears than he’d intended. Her nearness was distracting and a little unsettling. “What’s your poison?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I haven’t had a drink in so long I’m probably better off just having a fizzy drink.”

“If that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll have. I just felt like celebrating, is all, after your big night. It’s on me.”

“You don’t have to --”

“I want to.”

Rose’s tongue came to the corner of her mouth and she smiled at him, making him melt just a little. “Alright then, Mr. Docherty, I’ll have a cider.”

Ian ordered for them when the waitress came by and just a couple minutes later, two frosty glasses were dropped off in front of them. He picked up his glass and turned to Rose.

“A toast…”

Rose raised her glass and grinned. “To?”

“To Rose Tyler and Bad Wolf Books. May you be so far in the black you don’t even remember the red.”

“Hear, hear,” she giggled, clinking her glass with his and they both took a long sip before setting the glasses down. 

Rose was playing with the side of her clear pint glass, running her finger up and down the side in the condensation. “I’m not quite sure what to do with myself.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” she said, flushing a little. “Every time you and I have been sitting at a table before, I’ve had Jack writing little notes on my coffee cup, giving me topics of conversation.”

Ian laughed out loud. “You too, huh?”

“Oh, he’s been doing it to you?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Which reminds me, did you _really_ convince your school choir to strike?”

It was Rose’s turn to laugh. “I really did. The robes were ugly and I didn’t like the music we were supposed to sing.”

“That’s as good a reason as any, I suppose.”

“It was a terrible reason,” she admitted. “I just felt like being a rebel - but not causing too much havoc, you know?”

Ian smirked. “When I create havoc, I usually go all-out, so I admire your restraint.”

_Fuck, she’s cute._

Rose giggled and he felt compelled to ask, “What has Jack been telling you about me?”

“I don’t think he knows you quite as well as he knows me,” she said. “I certainly haven’t gotten any stories about you leading teenagers on a rebellion. But he told me you played guitar and tonight’s offering was that you hold multiple patents. Is that true?”

“It is,” he told her. “I’m surprised he knew that about me.”

“What all have you invented?”

“Mostly sound equipment. Some video techniques. I invented the in-ear monitor that musicians use on stage to hear their own music, although it’s had massive upgrades since I had my hands on it.”

Rose looked gobsmacked. “Wow. That’s seriously amazing.”

Ian shrugged, hoping to appear nonchalant. He’d always been proud of his technological accomplishments, but he’d never shouted about them. That said, anything that brought about that admiring look in Rose’s eyes was completely welcome. 

The waitress appeared with answer sheets for the pub quiz, taking Ian by surprise. He hadn’t planned on doing anything other than chatting with her, but Rose seemed excited to play. He knew that there likely wasn't anyone in the place who could match his intelligence and that they were almost guaranteed to win, but if it made Rose happy, he’d go along with it. At the very least, they’d get to know each other a little bit better, and wasn’t that the whole point of being there? 

Two more drinks were delivered and they started to play. Ian was pleasantly surprised by how clever Rose was. He’d known she was intelligent, that was obvious, but he enjoyed letting her take the lead for their little two-man team. They laughed together, toasted to ridiculous things, and Ian decided that asking Rose to the pub had been a good idea, after all. 

They’d been there about forty-five minutes when Ian spotted a little fucker that was eyeing up Rose - but he was honestly surprised he hadn’t seen more like him before then. The young man had dark hair, a handsome face, and eyes that were raking Rose up and down. 

Ian clenched his teeth. The little fucker was probably more Rose’s type - he looked like a fucking pretty boy - but Ian could spot a prick a mile off, and this guy was a prick. If he were any kind of friend, he’d let her make her own decisions. Rose seemed to be the type that appreciated that freedom. 

But Ian wasn’t just her friend - or at least, he didn’t plan to stay that way very long. Jealousy burned within him, and he worried that he’d end up making a scene if the little fucker came over to make a pass at Rose with him sitting right there. It could get ugly. Certainly wouldn’t be his first pub brawl - he was Scottish and a musician after all - but it was probably a bad idea to do something like that while out with Rose. 

The bastard was still staring at Rose, though, and Ian decided to act. 

Casually, as if he did it every day, he stretched his arm behind her until it was laying on her shoulders. She didn’t say anything about it, just looked up at him questioningly. He bent closer to her ear to avoid being overheard. This close to her, her smell curled around him and he fought to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head from sheer bliss.

“Don’t like the looks of that fucker over there, staring at you,” he explained.

She smiled brilliantly up at him, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth, practically fucking daring him to catch it and taste it. 

“Is that the only reason?” she asked, coy. 

He tried to speak, but didn’t get a chance before Rose brought her left hand up to his and threaded their fingers together, holding his hand and keeping his arm in place. His heart soared, and he shot a smug look at the little fucker. 

She didn’t let go of his hand, even as the announcer asked three more questions and they answered them correctly. He never wanted her to let him go. Ever. 

For the next question, the announcer prepped them. “This is a tough one, folks, get ready. The guitar player and lead singer of the 90’s band Gallifrey is known publicly as the Doctor. What is the Doctor’s real name?”

Ian was sure his heart stopped beating and his mind raced. What the fuck should he do? Should he tell her? Should he give her the wrong answer on purpose to cover himself? No. He couldn’t do that. What could he --

On the paper in front of him, Rose’s small hand wrote in her looping penmanship. 

_Ian Docherty._

His jaw dropped and he stared at it for a minute. 

“Are you alright?” Rose asked him. He just turned his eyes up to hers.

“You know?”

She nodded, biting her lip, looking anxious. “I figured it out weeks ago. My dad had some Gallifrey CDs and I found them when I was cleaning his flat, right after I met you. One bloke looked an awful lot like you. Still took me a couple of weeks to make the connection. The beard hides you well.”

“All this time, you’ve known,” he marvelled. 

“A few weeks, yeah.”

“And it’s alright?” he asked, heart in his throat. 

She beamed at him, making his heart feel like it had taken flight. “Why wouldn’t it be alright? That’s who you are at work, yeah? I like to think I’ve been getting to know Ian.”

“Yeah,” he choked out, absolutely in awe of her, wondering if this blooming warmth and almost fizzy feeling in his veins was what love felt like. 

“Are _you_ alright?”

Ian nodded, then squeezed her hand, still held in his. “Yeah. I’m perfect.”

~*~O~*~

1 May 2016

Ian took her hand when they left the pub a few hours later, citing the little fucker that had been checking her out, leaving out the fact that he had backed off satisfactorily when Ian staked his claim. Rose didn’t seem to mind, though, she just intertwined their fingers and Ian realized again that he never wanted to let go. It was terrifying and exhilarating. 

There were only three blocks to the shop but by mutual unspoken agreement, neither of them were in much of a hurry. They strolled together slowly, their joined hands between them, and Ian traced the back of her thumb with his. 

“I need to apologize,” he began, feeling terribly nervous. 

“For what?”

“I should have told you who I am. And I was going to tell you, I honestly was, I was just waiting for the right opportunity.”

“Why didn’t you? I’m not cross or anything, just curious.”

“I was afraid you’d not want to have anything to do with me if I was completely honest.”

She grinned down at their feet. “That’s not something you have to worry about. Me wanting to spend time with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I love spending time with you when you come in. Anytime, really.”

He let his thumb caress her hand again. “I love spending time with you, too. I’d like to do more of it.”

Rose’s voice was barely audible. “I’d like that, too.”

They walked in silence for a few steps, then she said, “Now I need to thank you.” 

“For what?” An endearment sprung to his lips, but he bit it back just in time. _Soon,_ he thought. 

“Work has been… well, ‘stressful’ would be an understatement.”

“Yeah. Jack mentioned that you’d been stressed out lately, but I haven’t seen a lot of evidence of that, myself.”

“That’s because I’m not tense when I’m with you. And I don’t know why. I feel like I should be, you know? Like it’s wrong to be this relaxed and easy when I’m with you.”

Ian didn’t say anything, just waited, holding his breath. 

“But I am,” she went on. “I’ve never been so comfortable around someone else in my life. Like… like we fit. Do you know what I mean?”

He nodded, even though she wasn’t looking up to see him. “Yeah. I get what you’re saying.”

“I’ve never known anyone like you before,” she said, swinging their hands a little, still looking at the ground. “I mean, I told you I haven’t dated much. I only ever had two boyfriends. And neither of them were like you.”

“How do you mean?” he asked, fishing.

“I was never this comfortable with either of them,” she told him, leaning her head on his shoulder as they walked. “Neither of them would have been able to calm me down and make me feel good while all this… junk has been going on. With work, I mean. I’d still have been an anxious wreck. But you… there’s just something about you.” 

It occured to Ian suddenly just how wildly different they were, as far as life experiences went. He was the Doctor, for fuck’s sake, and she’d only ever had two boyfriends.

Damned if he was going to let that stop him, though. He wanted to be lucky number three. 

Rose laughed suddenly. “God, I’m probably going to feel so stupid in the morning when I remember this. This is why I never drink, I get too honest. It was only a couple drinks, it shouldn’t have me baring my soul, but here we are.”

“But you are being honest?” he prodded. 

“Yep. Every word’s gospel truth.”

Ian didn’t say anything to that. His mind was spinning. 

She wasn’t done. “You make me feel good, feel safe. I can forget… things when I’m with you. That’s what I wanted to thank you for.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, because he genuinely couldn’t think of anything else. 

They were passing Torchwood, coming up to the Bad Wolf, and Rose surprised him again. “So I don’t know about you, but the impression that I’ve been getting from Jack and Ianto is that they want us to be together.”

Ian laughed. “Yeah, I’ve been getting the same impression. In fact, tonight’s message on my cup was simply ‘ask her out’.”

“Glad you took their advice,” Rose said, peeking up at him from under her lashes, and Ian thanked the heavens for the little bit of alcohol that was letting her speak the truth. 

“Here’s my stop.” She turned to face him, still holding his hand. “So what do you think?” 

He looked at her, a little confused. “About what?”

“About what Jack and Ianto have been doing. Trying to get us together.”

“I think it’s a fucking fantastic idea,” he told her, smiling a little, squeezing her hand. 

“Yeah?”

He nodded. “Yeah.” It was both natural as breathing and an act of extreme bravery to raise his free hand to cup her cheek. Her skin was like satin and he wanted to touch more of her. “Rose?”

“Yeah?”

“I’d very much like to kiss you. Can I?”

Her eyes widened. “What did you say?”

Panic shot through him for just a moment. “I asked if I could kiss you. Is that wrong?”

She shook her head a little. “No, no. I just… I dreamed of you doing that.”

He smirked, terribly pleased with that answer. “You dreamed of me?”

Rose flushed and he stroked her heated cheek with his thumb. “Yeah. Maybe a little.”

Ian bent towards her, bringing his smiling mouth closer to hers, lowering his voice to just barely above a whisper. “Did I kiss you in your dream?”

She nodded, her eyes wide. “Yeah.”

“Did you like it?”

“Yeah.”

He bumped her nose with his, bringing his lips down even closer to hers. “Would you like me to kiss you now?”

“Please,” she breathed. 

Ian pressed his lips to hers softly, just the barest touch of his mouth against hers, but it was enough to send a jolt through his entire body. He gasped a little from the powerful sensation, noting that Rose did the same, and opened his eyes to look at her. Her eyes had fluttered closed, her cheek leaning into his hand, and her lush lips were parted just a little. He could have smirked, probably would have with anyone else, but this was Rose and kissing her breathless was a better use of his time, so he set about to do that. 

His second kiss was a little firmer, more sure of itself. He slid his hand from her cheek to thread through her hair and cup the back of her head, holding her to him, and let his lips tell her everything he was too much of a coward to say out loud. She let go of the hand she was holding and put her hands on his sides tentatively. Ian responded by winding his arms around her and holding her as close as he could, deepening the kiss. She tasted like heaven, like the embodiment of every good thing, and he couldn’t get enough. The second kiss blended into a third, then a fourth, the two of them parting only long enough to come back together. He had no idea how long they stood like that, wrapped around each other and kissing, utterly single-mindedly. He only knew that he never wanted that moment to end. 

After a while, though, he broke the kiss, placing a couple of butterfly kisses to her swollen lips to soften the loss, cupping her face in his hands. Rose loosened her grip on him and hung her hands on his forearms, looking up into his eyes. 

“Blimey,” she whispered. 

He smirked a little at her awed tone. “What?”

“I just...I never figured you to be the type bloke that would be kissing girls on a street corner at 2am.”

“I never have been,” he assured, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

“Ian?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Does this mean we’re together now?”

“Do you want us to be?”

She nodded, her head moving between his hands, and he couldn’t help it, he had to kiss her some more. Entire lifetimes might have passed while he let his lips and tongue explore her mouth and he wouldn’t have known. He was lost in the sensations of _Rose_. She was gorgeous, perfect, an absolute dream...and now she was his.

When he finally released her, he dropped little kisses all over her face, marking her as best he could, claiming her. 

“You won’t change your mind?” he asked, stroking her cheek again. 

“No. You?”

“Not a fucking chance, sweetheart,” he smiled. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

“Would you… um… would you like to come up?” she asked, sounding shy, and he remembered for the first time that they were standing on the pavement outside the Bad Wolf and her flat. 

Ian groaned a little, knowing what she meant, and pressed his forehead to hers. “I’d love to, sweetheart. I want to. But I don’t think I could be trusted to act the gentleman if I do.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to,” she teased, her tongue curling around her teeth. Ian groaned again. 

“I have to.”

“Why?”

He thought at lightning speed, hoping to explain his reasoning to her in a way that made sense and didn’t sound utterly barmy. 

“You know how when we first met, you thought I was a grumpy arsehole?”

“Yeah?”

“Your first impression was right. I _am_ a grumpy arsehole - but not with you. You’re… you…” He struggled to find the words to express his thoughts, and settled for just kissing her again. When he broke the kiss, he murmured, “Something about you makes me want to be a better man. I don’t want to do things with you the way I always have, I don’t want to fuck this up. I want to do everything the right way. Can you be patient with me and let me try?” Rose nodded and he kissed her again, gently, softly. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He finger-combed her hair back from her face, looking into the whisky-brown eyes that had enchanted him for weeks and weeks, and knew that he’d never seen anything so gorgeous in all his life. “Can I see you again?”

“You can see me whenever you want,” she smiled up at him. 

“Tomorrow?”

“You mean later today?”

“Yes, that’s what I mean.”

“That would be perfect.”

He kissed her again because _she_ was perfect and for some reason he couldn’t imagine, he was allowed to. 

“I have to go,” he told her, hoping she’d understand. 

“Okay. You’ll come pick me up later?”

“Yes, and we’ll go do something. Whatever you want. I don’t care, so long as we do it together.”

“It’s a date.”

He grinned at her, over the moon. “Don’t forget about me overnight,” he teased.

“Never gonna happen.”

“Good.” He kissed her nose and took a step back, releasing her, squeezing one of her hands in farewell. “Goodnight, Rose Tyler.”

“Goodnight, Ian. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yes, you will.”

She turned to leave, opening the door that led to the flats above her shop. The door closed behind her and Ian listened to her retreating footfalls up the stairs. Once he couldn’t hear her anymore, he turned and started towards home, his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face, writing songs in his head.


	14. Chapter 14

6 May 2016

Rose looked up from the customer she was helping at the counter to see Jack striding through the archway from Torchwood, smirking. She had no doubt what that was about and flushed, even as she tried to ignore him. 

When the customer was gone, she turned and gave him a glower. “Can I help you?”

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I have not. I’ve just been...busy.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it. But you’re not too busy when Ian comes in, I’ve noticed,” he teased. 

Rose flushed again. “No, but then he doesn’t pester me like you do.”

She idly straightened a couple of things at the front counter, waiting for Jack to say or do something, but he just stood there, maddeningly patient. Finally, she snapped. “Oh, bloody hell. Fine. What do you want to know?”

“ _Everything_ ,” Jack enthused, suddenly more animated. “I’ve seen the two of you lock lips a couple of times, so I know you’re an item now.”

“Yes,” she admitted, trying for nonchalant, not quite hiding the smile that crept up on her. “We’re an item now.”

Jack whooped and swept Rose into a huge hug, picking her up and spinning her around one time before sitting her back down. 

“It’s about time!”

“Yes, yes. We’re both very aware of your feelings on the subject,” she giggled. 

“So tell me all about it. Every detail - especially the disgusting ones. I’ll need perfect recall in order to tell Yan.”

Rose debated with herself. She rarely saw any of her girlfriends anymore, and she missed the gossip sessions they used to have. Donna had made her feelings about Rose dating Ian perfectly clear through eye rolls and the occasional lightly snarky comment. Honestly, Jack was the closest friend she had right now, and there was no reason not to tell him everything. Besides, she was dying to share her joy with someone. 

“There aren’t any disgusting details. He’s been a perfect gentleman,” she told him primly. 

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not. He asked me to the pub on Saturday night after the open mic, which you knew. He put his arm around me while we were there and held my hand on the way back, then he kissed me goodnight.”

“A good kiss?”

Rose bit her lip on a smile. “Bloody _brilliant_. And more than one.”

Jack smirked. “Well, go on. Tell me more.”

“Nothing else happened that night. He kissed me again, told me goodnight, and I went to bed.”

“When did you see him again?”

Rose flushed. “The next day, about twelve hours later. He took me to a May Day festival, we spent the afternoon together.”

“Doing what?” 

“Just browsing,” she shrugged. “But we talked a lot more and he never let go of my hand, Jack. The whole time we were together, he held my hand.”

Jack smirked. “Stole kisses, too, I bet.”

“He didn’t have to steal them,” she confessed, flushing again. “Why wouldn’t I want to kiss my bloke?”

Jack giggled - actually _giggled_ \- and Rose did, too. She couldn’t help it. She was too happy not to. 

“Then, after we left there, he took me to dinner.”

“Anywhere interesting?”

“I don’t remember the name of the place, I was focused on...other things. It was Greek food though, and really delicious.”

“I’ve seen him coming into the shop nearly every day.”

“Yeah. He’s been coming to see me, and he’s coming tonight when the shop closes, in a few minutes. We’re going to watch a film at my flat.”

Jack raised an eyebrow and bobbed his head a little, doing a vague interpretation of a risque dance. “ _Bow chicka wow wow!_ ”

Rose swatted him, giggling. “You lech. He hasn’t been like that, he really has been a gentleman.”

“Good,” Jack said. “You deserve to be treated like a princess.”

Actually, she very much wished he’d be just a little _un_ gentlemanly. There had been scads of kissing and some tentative touches, but he seemed determined not to push her. Rose didn’t want to push the issue, either, not wanting to seem too forward, but blimey. Just kissing him got her so fired up…

“You know what he does for a living, right?” Jack asked, interrupting her steamy little thought process.

“Yeah, I know.”

“And you’re alright with that?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know that side of him. It’s intimidating, I guess, but I only know Ian, not the Doctor. Reckon I’ll get to know _that_ him more as time goes on. But I can’t imagine it changing how I feel about him.”

“Oh yeah,” Jack crowed. “You’re a goner.”

Rose felt her ears burning and swatted his arm. “Hush, you.”

The bells over the shop door jingled, catching her attention, and she turned to see her bloke stepping aside politely to let a customer by. She smiled, biting her lip and watching him until he looked up from the customer and caught her eye. When he did, his whole face spread into a smile, too. 

“Speaking of goners…” Jack said in a low voice behind her. “He looks more smitten than ever.”

“Yeah?” she asked, turning around for a second.

“Oh, yeah.”

Rose turned back just in time for Ian to approach the counter. She went on tiptoes when he put his hand on her waist. 

“Hello, sweetheart,” he said, just before he pressed a kiss to her upturned lips. 

“Hey, yourself,” she beamed.

Ian seemed to catch sight of Jack and slid his arm around Rose’s waist, offering his free hand to the other man. “Good to see you, Jack.”

“Good to see you, too. Glad you took my advice.”

“So am I,” Ian said, smiling down at Rose. 

“You’re going to take care of her, now, aren’t you? ‘Cause if you don’t, I think it’s only fair to warn you that I know well over a hundred ways to kill a man.”

“Jack!” Rose hissed, her face flushed. 

Ian just squeezed her waist. “I am,” he answered simply. “You have my word.”

“Good man,” Jack smiled, releasing Ian’s hand. “Well! It’s about that time. I should get back to my side of the building, lest Ianto thinks I ran off with someone. You two kids have fun! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“That leaves the field wide open then, doesn’t it?” Ian remarked, smirking.

Rose giggled. “Bye, Jack,” she waved. “See you in the morning.” 

Jack winked at her, then he was gone through the archway. 

“Bloody menace,” she muttered, then turned to face Ian. “I’m sorry. He seems to see himself as something of my protector, since Dad died.”

“Don’t be sorry. The people around you _should_ care about whether or not your bloke treats you well. He’s doing exactly what he’s supposed to.”

“My bloke,” she repeated on a sigh. “Bit hard to believe, that.”

Ian smirked, then ducked his head to kiss her. Something fizzled inside of her, just as it had every time he kissed her, and she felt it all the way to the tips of her toes. When he released her, she held onto him for just a moment, getting her bearings again. 

“You have to close the shop,” her murmured against her lips.

“I do,” she agreed, reluctant to be out of his arms for even a few minutes. “I’d rather be kissing you, though.”

His eyes twinkled. “Do what you have to do, sweetheart. There’s plenty of time for kissing, and I promise I’ll kiss you until you’re breathless when you’re done.”

Rose shivered in the warm room and Ian chuckled, placing a kiss on her forehead.

“What can I do to help?” he offered.

“If you’d like, you can lock the door and flip the sign. Then just make yourself comfortable until I get done. It won’t be long.”

He gave her a look. “Are you sure I can’t do more?”

“Positive,” she smiled. 

“Alright, then,” he said, pressing his lips to hers in a quick kiss. “I’ll do what you asked.”

She counted down the register as quickly as she could without sacrificing accuracy, doing her best not to focus all of her attention on Ian. He was standing by the magazine rack, flipping through a music magazine, but she saw him dart his eyes over towards her every now and then. More than once, they caught each other’s gaze and would share a small, shy smile when they did. Twice when that happened, she found herself so flustered that she lost count and had to start all over. 

At long last, she finished counting the drawer and had the deposit ready to put in the safe. Everything was done, save shelving the books people had decided against at the last minute. She could leave them til tomorrow, she supposed, but it was only a couple of books and, well, she was nervous about taking Ian up to her flat. With the exception of the day they’d painted her dad’s flat, they’d always been around other people. Even now that they were dating, they’d always spent time together in public. Tonight she was going to have him all on her own and she couldn’t help but be anxious about that. 

“I just have to put these away,” she told him, scooping up the books. “Won’t be a minute.”

She hurried through shelving the three books, getting a chill when she saw that the last book was a tome of love poetry. Her dream was still vivid in her mind and for a wild moment, she considered hiding out until he came to look for her so she could make her dream come true…

No, she decided, putting the book on the shelf. Why would she want to stand around and hope he did what she wanted? She was being silly - and wasting time. It made more sense for her to go back out front and spend the evening with him, following his lead. 

Once the last book was shelved, she scurried to the back room to check her hair quickly, then back to the counter to greet Ian with a smile. “Ready to go?”

“Absolutely,” he told her, putting the magazine back. He held the door open for her while she came out onto the pavement, then stood back while she relocked it. Once Rose was done checking the locks, he offered his hand and she managed not to giggle when she took it. 

“Have you eaten?”

“I could eat,” he told her, and was it her imagination, or did his eyes darken when he said that?

“We could order a pizza to my flat, if you like. Or we could go out. Whichever you prefer.”

“I’m perfectly happy with either, as long as I’m with you,” he told her, bringing her hand up to kiss the knuckles. 

Rose flushed and debated the options at lightning speed. Going out to dinner would be fun, but it would lengthen the time before she was able to get him all to herself. That extra time could be good or bad, she knew. Finally, she decided that she was well past ready to get him on her couch and...see how things progressed. 

“Let’s go up to my flat,” she suggested, “and see what we’re in the mood for.”

There was no mistaking it this time - his eyes darkened and so did his voice. “By all means, Miss Tyler. After you.”

~*~O~*~

11 May, 2016

Ian strode into the pub on Thursday afternoon in a great mood, catching sight of Fergus in the back corner and heading straight for him. His best mate smiled, and Ian smiled, too, when he saw that Fergus already had a beer waiting on him. 

“Nimnole,” he greeted the ginger man, sliding into the booth and extending his hand. 

Fergus took it. “Bampot,” he returned the greeting with a smile. “You’re looking chipper. What’s got you so pleasant?”

Ian just shrugged. “Nothing in particular,” he lied. “Just got word that you’re coming to Paris with me next week.”

“Yep. Don’t know how much you’ll actually use me, but the label is iffy about the drummer for the Courtesans. I’ll probably be hanging in the booth with you a lot.”

“That’s fine by me,” Ian answered, taking a swig of his beer. “You can run interference between me and this bunch of fucking rookies in the studio.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Fergus promised with a grin. “Heard anymore out of Glasgow?”

“Regarding Gallifrey?”

“Yep.”

Ian felt a flash of irritation, but tamped it down. Not his favorite topic, but he’d cope. “Clara is holding her off.”

“How?”

“By telling her I’m writing a fucking album.”

Fergus raised an eyebrow. “ _Are_ you writing an album?”

He nodded. “Got eight songs to scratch, with scads more fragments. If my luck holds, I’ll be calling you in to record within a couple months.”

“That so?”

“That’s so.”

His best mate just eyed him for a minute, a knowing smirk toying with the corner of his mouth. 

“How’s the girl?”

Ian did his best not to be irritated with Fergus for referring to Rose as ‘the girl’. It had never been a problem to refer to any woman Ian took up with that way before, Fergus had no frame of reference to go by. 

“I assume you mean Rose.”

“I do.”

“She’s fine. We’re together now.”

That sent both of Fergus’ eyebrows to his hairline. “Oh, you are?”

“Yes,” Ian answered succinctly. “We are. Have been for a little over a week now. Since the first.”

“Did you tell her?”

Ian shook his head. “Didn’t have to. She figured it out on her own, the clever girl.”

“What did she say, then?”

He shrugged. “Only that that’s who I was at work, and she’d thought she was getting to know Ian, not the Doctor.”

Fergus gaped. “That’s _it_?”

“That’s it,” Ian grinned.

“That’s pretty...amazing.”

“That’s just Rose,” he said proudly. “I mean, fuck, Fergus. I don’t even know how long ago she figured it out, because she never treated me any differently.”

“You’re serious.”

“As a heart attack.”

“Have you two talked about it? In depth, I mean.”

“Why would we? That pressure is off. She knows.”

“She can’t possibly know everything that entails, Ian,” Fergus reasoned. 

“Rose is cleverer than you’re giving her fucking credit for. Taking up with me… I doubt very seriously that she did so without some consideration for what it would mean. She’s not the type to fucking run into things all willy-nilly.”

“You sound smitten,” Fergus observed.

Ian snorted. “That’s a stupid word, but I guess it applies here. I am. I’m thoroughly smitten with her. Utterly besotted.”

The other man just shook his head with a rueful grin. “I never thought I’d see the day. Ian Docherty, in love.”

The last two words were a shock to him, although they really shouldn’t have been, and he stammered. “Who the fuck said I was in love?”

“You have, practically.”

“I said I was besotted.”

“Same difference. You and I were never exactly _shy_ about our conquests, not with each other, but we didn’t wear them like a badge of honor, either. Hell, I have no idea how many women have warmed your bed in the last few years, until this Rose came along. Yet you can’t shut up about her.”

Ian squirmed a little, not terribly sure what to say, but wanting to say _something_. “Rose isn’t a fucking bedwarmer,” he protested. 

Fergus just gaped at him for a few minutes. “Do you mean to tell me… Wait. Are you saying that the two of you haven’t…”

He could feel himself flushing but hoped the dim light in the pub would mask it. “Not that it’s any of your fucking business, but no. We haven’t, not yet.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because she’s different. She’s not like some groupie or pop singer or what the fuck ever - the women I’ve dated previously. Rose is… she’s _different_.”

“Different _how_?”

“She just...is,” Ian finished lamely, taking a breath and a swig of beer while his brain spun. “There’s something about her, Fergus, and I can’t fucking define it. For all I’m supposed to be fucking brilliant with words, I can’t explain what’s so special about her. But she’s not like any of the other women I’ve ever known, and I refuse to treat her the way I would have treated them. She’s better than that. She deserves better.”

“You’re in love with her,” Fergus remarked, all traces of teasing gone.

Ian sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “How the hell should I know? It’s not like I’ve ever been in love before. Not really. I have nothing to compare it to.”

“Well, what’s it like?”

He contemplated for a second. “I’m fucking terrified.”

“Of what?”

“Scaring her away, mostly. I’m no fucking peach - you know that. But something about her… it softens me or something. I’m much less of an arsehole when I’m with her. And I’m not even _trying_ to be less of an arsehole. She just...makes me better, without even trying. I’m resenting the hell out of going into the chair next week because it means I won’t get to see her for two weeks or more. If I could, I’d break contract and not go. Being away from her is going to fuck with my head, I just know it. It’s like...it’s like I’m fucking addicted to her or something.” And he didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to go without satisfying that craving - at least physically. 

Fergus looked pensive for a second. “How long did you say you’ve known this girl?”

“Once again, her name is Rose, and I met her at the beginning of March. Right after I came back from Glasgow. And don’t you dare,” he started raising a threatening finger, “don’t you fucking _dare_ try to tell me that that’s not long enough to feel what I feel. You were practically standing on Osgood’s doorstep with flowers and fucking chocolates the day after you met her.”

“Aye, and that’s why I’m so intrigued. Everything you just said, I could say about Osgood. Hate to break it to you, brother, but it sounds like you’re in love.”

Ian chewed on that for just a second, then let a slow smile uncurl across the bottom of his face. “Yeah, well, feels like I am, too. Either in love or falling that way.”

Fergus reached across the table and slapped him on the shoulder. “Welcome to the club, mate. Next order of business - bring her to dinner at ours. Oz is going to be dying to meet her and, hell, I am, too.”

“Let me get through Paris first and the damn Courtesans. Then I’ll talk to her about it.”

“Fair enough.”


	15. Chapter 15

15 May 2016

“So what did you think of the Tower of London?” Ian asked, stabbing a bit of his food and taking a bite. 

“It was lovely! Well, not _lovely,_ I suppose, some of it was rather gory, but on the whole…”

“You enjoyed yourself?”

Rose nodded, smiling, grateful he didn’t seem to mind her babbling. “I did. It was fun. The royal jewels were absolutely stunning.”

“They could never be as beautiful as you, sweetheart.”

She smiled again, then went back to her food, flushing. He was always saying things like that and she supposed one day she’d get used to it, but for now, it still caught her by surprise every time he did. Her bloke was terribly romantic and she loved it. 

It really had been a lovely day, and she was doing her best to save up all the good feelings that came from being around him, since he’d be leaving in the morning for Paris. She wasn’t entirely sure how she was going to get through the next few weeks without him...well, that wasn’t true. There was more than enough work to do at the shop to keep her busy, and she and Ian had already joked how they’d be making the most of their tariffs while he was gone, texting, calling, and FaceTiming often. She’d sheepishly expressed concern that he’d get to Paris and forget all about the little shopgirl, but he’d laughed, kissed her, and called her barmy. She’d been bolstered and warmed by his assertion that he could never forget her. The daft part of it was that she actually believed him. 

Their relationship had, in many ways, grown by leaps and bounds in the two weeks since they’d been officially dating. He called and talked to her every night while she got into bed, so the last thing she heard before she went to sleep was his voice. There was always a text waiting for her the next morning from him. They saw each other nearly every day, and, of course, they still had their coffee and lunch dates at the shop. In the evenings, he’d been coming to her flat and ‘watching telly’, although more often they’d had the telly going for a bit of background noise while they made out like teenagers on the couch. 

Much to her frustration, however, they hadn’t yet slept together. There had been much touching and caressing and he’d brought her off with his long fingers more than once, but he wouldn’t let her return the favor just yet. Anytime she tried he very gently told her he wanted to wait, that he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop if they got started. That wasn’t even remotely a problem for Rose, but she was too shy to tell him that. The urge to just climb on top of him and have her way with him was getting stronger and stronger. She was determined not to let him go to Paris to record with beautiful pop stars full of pent-up energy, and had decided to herself that if he tried to put the brakes on tonight, she was just going to bite the bullet and be as frank as she knew how to be. She’d practiced the conversation with herself in the mirror and had worn her cutest bra and knicker set today. She was ready. 

“Are you ready to go to Paris?” she asked. 

Ian sighed. “I suppose. I don’t fucking want to go, I’d much rather stay with you, but…”

“I know,” she said softly, and he reached across to take her hand for a second, squeezing it. “It won’t be long,” she reassured him, sounding more sure than she felt. 

“Seems like an eternity from this end,” he complained. 

“Hey,” she said, catching his attention by squeezing his hand. 

“Yeah?”

“I’ll still be here when you get done, yeah? I’m not going anywhere.”

Some of the tension seemed to bleed out of him and he softened a little, but his words were gruff. “I fucking hope not.”

“You have nothing to worry about. I promise.” She gave him one more reassuring squeeze then went back to her food. 

“As far as being actually ready to go, I am. I’ve packed everything but my guitar, so I’ll just have to throw it in a case before I head to the airport in the morning.”

“What time does your flight leave?”

“Half seven, and I need to be at the airport an hour before that.”

Rose winced. “Blimey, that sounds miserable. Suppose you should probably get to bed on time tonight, then.”

His eyes blazed at her. “Maybe I should.”

She flushed, heat suffusing every part of her body, hoping he meant what she thought he did. Deciding to tease him out a bit, she went on. 

“Guess that means I shouldn’t keep you at mine until all hours, should I?”

“Actually,” he started, sounding falsely casual, “I was going to ask you if you’d like to come back to mine. Seems strange that you’ve never really seen where I live.”

“I’d like that,” she smiled. “Maybe since you haven’t packed your guitar yet, you could play for me.”

Ian gave her a look she couldn’t quite read. “You want me to play for you?”

She shrugged, feeling self-conscious all of the sudden. “It’s just a thought.”

“I’d be happy to, sweetheart. Anything you want to hear.”

What Rose _really_ wanted to hear was him whispering nothings to her while they were tangled together in his sheets, but she didn’t dare say. Not yet. If she were lucky, maybe she could have both of those things tonight.

~*~O~*~

Ian had told her once, several weeks ago, that his flat was bigger than it looked like from the outside. He hadn’t been kidding - and she’d only seen the foyer and the lounge so far. The room was spacious, with large rugs covering the hardwood floor and expensive-looking floor lamps sitting beside the leather couch. Tasteful art and photography that perfectly complimented the room’s decor hung on the brick walls, and two guitars sat on stands beside the entertainment system. The floor-to-ceiling windows opened onto a beautiful cityscape and Rose went straight to them, looking out on the gorgeous view. 

“It’s beautiful,” she marveled, taking in the Thames curving through the city in the distance. 

“You’re beautiful,” he lobbed back at her, and before she could turn around, he was behind her, rubbing his hands on her arms, kissing her neck. Rose let herself sink into him a little and his arms went around her, cradling her close. She laid her head back on his shoulder and sighed, happy. 

They stood together like that for a long time and Rose was perfectly content to bask in the perfection of the moment. After a while, though, he ducked his head and pressed a kiss to her temple. “I’m being rude. Can I get you anything? Water? Fizzy drink? Glass of wine?”

“I’m fine right now,” she assured him, turning her head to catch his eyes and smiling. He smiled back and kissed her sweetly. 

“Did you still want me to play for you?”

“Absolutely.”

“Come,” he said, leading her to the couch. “Have a seat.”

Rose followed his lead and perched herself on the leather couch, watching him. He went to pick up the acoustic guitar then settled on the arm of a chair just a few feet from her. 

“Is that Tar...Tarpley?”

“Tardis,” he corrected her gently, “and no. This is Idris. Tardis is the blue one, just over there.”

“Ah.”

Ian strummed a few chords, as if he was warming up, then stopped the strings with his hands. “Well, Miss Tyler. I’m at your command. What can I play you?”

Her mind spun while she tried to think of something. “What was the song you played at open mic night?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you mean one of the ones I wrote for you?”

She bit her lip, blushing to the roots of her hair. “You really wrote that for me?”

“Said so, didn’t I?”

“You just said it was for a woman who had caught your attention. That could have been anyone.”

Ian shook his head. “No, it couldn’t have. Only you, sweetheart. Only you.”

She was so happy she thought she may float away, but managed to keep her seat.

“Here, let me play it for you again…” He got up and came to sit beside her, a bit closer than he necessarily had to, but Rose didn’t mind one bit. “Now that you know who it’s for.” He picked the strings, playing the melody she had locked into her memory, and began to sing softly to her. 

It took all of her willpower not to cry with excitement while he sang and played the song he’d written for her. She did her best to be quiet and take it all in, this precious moment, watching her bloke. He sang about being enchanted by her, bewitched, caught up in her spell, and she found herself falling deeper and deeper under his, as well. 

At length, he finished the song, and she stared at him dreamily. What had she done to get so lucky? Ian just smiled and leaned forward, cupping her cheek a little with the hand that still held his pick and kissing her gently. She leaned into the kiss, parting her lips for his tongue, and within seconds she heard the sounds of him blindly setting his guitar to the side then felt him scooting closer to her. Rose brought her arms up to go around his neck, playing with the hair on the back of his head. His hands roamed her a bit, bunching the fabric of her shirt at her back, then sliding around to her side, moving upwards to cup her breast. She made a contented noise when he did that and leaned herself backwards, aiming to lay on the couch and pull him on top of her. He followed her lead, much to her delight, and she hooked her denim-clad leg around his, opening herself a little, feeling his growing erection press against her. Hoping to egg him on, she rolled her hips and dragged her fingers through his hair. He made a needy little sound in her mouth and Rose would have smirked, had she been able. 

Instead she freed one hand and brought it down to cup him. He broke the kiss, moaning, dropping his head to her shoulder, and she stroked the hard length of his long cock through his trousers. He rutted into her hand, and she was thrilled when she felt _his_ hand slip between her legs, massaging her gently. 

“Sweetheart…”

“Please don’t make me stop,” she said in a rush, and he raised his head to look at her. “Please, Ian. I want to do this. I want you so badly…”

He kissed her almost wildly, his tongue exploring every recess of her mouth. She reveled in his loss of control, grinding herself against his hand and pumping him as hard as she dared. He pulled back, his eyes absolutely burning with desire, making her shiver. 

“Are you sure?”

“God, yes,” she nearly sobbed. 

He stared down at her for a minute, seeming to be considering, then pressed his lips to hers in a firm kiss. “Not here,” he said, then started climbing off of her. 

Rose was stunned. She just lay there, unable to believe what was happening. “What?”

Ian got to his feet then reached down and pulled her up beside him, wrapping his arms around her and bending to kiss her sweetly. She kissed him back, swept away by the sensations but still confused, then he pulled back and tucked her hair behind one ear. 

“Not here, sweetheart. Not on the fucking couch. You’re better than that, you’re more than that. It’s bad enough that I’m willing to sleep with you then leave for two or three weeks. The least I can do is provide you a bed.”

She relaxed a little once she realized it wasn’t a rejection, smiling up at him. “I don’t care where, as long as it’s with you.”

“I care. You deserve silk sheets, not a leather couch. Let me do this for you.”

“Whatever you want,” she murmured, turning her lips up. He took the invitation, kissing her softly, and she thanked her lucky stars. 

When he broke away, he softened the loss with little butterfly kisses, then spoke. “My suitcase is still open on the bed. Give me two minutes to close it up and I’ll come get you.”

“Actually,” she said, trying not to flush, “I need to use the loo. May I?”

“Of course, sweetheart. I want you to make yourself completely at home here.” There was more to that, something that made Rose feel like bursting into song, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it. “The loo is the last door on the left. My bedroom is the first door on the right.” He hesitated for just a moment and his eyes darkened. “See you there?”

She beamed at him. “See you there.”

With one last kiss, he released her, and they stepped into the corridor. Ian branched off to the right and Rose continued to the loo. 

This was it, she thought as she looked in the mirror after finishing her business, touching up her hair and inspecting herself. This was the moment. A sudden rush of nerves overtook her. It had been years since she’d had sex with anyone. Would she even know what to do anymore? What if she embarrassed herself horribly? What if --?

No. That wouldn’t happen. This was Ian. It wasn’t like she was about to shag a stranger, she _knew_ him. He was her boyfriend. She was going to go out there and make love to this man she was absolutely mad about, and it was going to be perfect. Just perfect. Squaring her shoulders, she stepped out of the loo into the corridor, looking both ways. She turned towards where she believed the bedroom was, but a glint caught her eye in the opposite direction. Like a curious child, she followed it, stepping into a large room. 

The room was clearly a recording studio, although Rose couldn’t have said what any of the myriad machines did. Several guitars hung from wall-mounted racks, there was a piano, and large speakers were mounted in each corner of the room. On the wall closest to the door was a workbench, littered with wires and components. It looked messy, but if Rose knew Ian at all, she’d be willing to bet that he knew where everything was. 

No, what had Rose’s attention was what Ian was using as a paperweight - a Grammy award. The little golden gramophone was distinctive and known all over the world - it was impossible that she wouldn’t know it. It was one of the highest honors in the musical world - and her bloke was using it as a bleeding _paperweight_. 

Oh, God, Ian had a Grammy….

Her eyes darted around the room and instantly she spotted the framed records on the wall - she counted six gold and three silver-colored framed records that she assumed were platinum. On a shelf over the mixing board sat three more Grammys, artistically displayed.

Rose covered her throat, sure she wouldn’t be able to speak even if she wanted - even if she could think of something to say. She fairly stumbled into the corridor and some of the artwork that she’d just breezed right by before stared at her now. 

Ian with his guitar, looking intense on the cover of Spin. _The Doctor is In! Spin Talks to the Doctor on the Eve of His New World Tour_.

Another cover - this one Billboard - with an artistic black and white shot of Ian. _Selling Out Without Selling Out: How the Doctor Continues to Rule the Music World_.

The cover of Rolling Stone featuring Ian posing with both hands on the head of Tardis, leaning on it as if it were a cane. The words to the right practically screamed at Rose: _The Man, The Myth, The Doctor: Rolling Stone sits down with the 21st century’s own King of Rock-n-Roll_.

She choked back a sob, covering her mouth to keep it in and squeezing her eyes tight. It had been too good to be true, she should have known better. It had all been too good. She’d pictured him as a star, yes, but… _World tours?!_ This was so much more than she’d imagined. He was a bloody _superstar_ , for heaven’s sake! How stupid could she --

“Sweetheart? You get lost?” Ian poked his head out of the bedroom door into the corridor looking for her. His face lit up into a smile when he saw her, but when she couldn’t return it, his face fell. “Rose?” he asked, stepping into the corridor fully, his eyes now concerned. “You alright?”

“I… I have to go.” He stepped aside for her when she pushed past him, but she hadn’t taken two steps towards the door before he was at her side, grabbing her arm gently to slow her down. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Nothing,” she lied, not looking at him and pulling her arm free. “I just have to go to work.”

“That’s bullshit,” he challenged, following her. “The shop is closed on Sundays. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Is it something I said? Something I did? Did I rush you?”

“No! No, it’s nothing like that. You were… you’re perfect.” The tears threatened to spill. He was entirely _too_ perfect. He was also... 

“I just have to go.” She started towards the door again, but suddenly he was there, blocking her. 

“Rose, please, _please_ , tell me what I did. Give me a chance to fix it.”

“You can’t fix this, Ian,” she told him, the tears finally winning the battle. “There’s nothing you can do to fix it.”

“Sweetheart… I need you to tell me. I swear I can fix it, whatever it is. I can. Just tell me.”

The sob she’d been choking back escaped, and she bowed her head. She didn’t deserve him, she’d never deserved him, she never would, she was just a shopgirl out of the estates…

“Rose --”

“You’re the Doctor, okay? You’re this huge superstar known all over the world…”

Ian looked confused. “You told me you knew.”

“I did! I do! I just didn’t know it was so… I didn’t understand the scope…”

He brought his hand up to cup her face. “Oh, sweetheart…”

“I thought you were a British celebrity. Like, only in Britain. I had no idea you were… worldwide.”

He looked miserable, his blue eyes tender and sad, and he wiped one of her tears away with a gentle thumb. “I’m just me, Rose.”

“But you’re not, don’t you see?” she cried. “You’re… you’re…”

“I’m Ian. I’m your bloke. That’s it.”

She shook her head. “I have to… I need to think about this.”

“Sweetheart…”

“It’s so much, Ian. So much to take in. You’re,” she gestured at him, “ _you_ , and I’m just a chav. I’m not equal to this, equal to you.”

“You’re not --”

“I’ve got to go. You’ve got a plane to catch in the morning.” She put her hand on the doorknob, pulling the door open and thought for just a second that he was going to let her go, but she should have known better. He tugged her back, spun her around, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. His lips against hers were hard, desperate, and afraid. She poured everything she felt for him into the kiss, throwing her arms around him, telling herself that if it was the last time, she was going to make it count. 

After an eternity - or a few seconds - he gentled the kiss and slowly let her go. Her silent tears picked up, and she bit the inside of her lip to keep the wracking, gasping sobs back. 

Ian touched her face. “Don’t go, Rose. Please. Don’t leave me.”

“I have to. I’m not… I have to.” She couldn’t articulate what she was thinking, just that she needed to _think_.

“Can I call you?”

“I need time.”

“Sweetheart, please --”

“Just give me some time to process it all. To figure things out.”

The slump of his shoulders almost made her break her resolve right then. 

“I’ll see you in a few weeks,” she offered.

“Yeah. See you.”


	16. Chapter 16

18 May 2016

The Doctor was not known for being a ray of sunshine, but even he had to admit he’d been more of a prick for the last couple of days. It wasn’t the Courtesans’ fault, he knew that, but they were certainly the ones that were taking the brunt of his bad mood.

Things hadn’t started off too badly. It generally took one to two days to record a song, and they’d finished a song a day in the first two days. Today, however, through either incompetence or fuckery, it was five pm and they hadn’t gotten two tracks complete. Ian was having to coach the musicians through their fucking parts today, when yesterday things had gone smoothly, and he wasn’t at all fucking happy about it. He had very little patience for incompetence, especially when he was trying to get shit done. He’d hoped to get these fucking sessions done in the bare minimum amount of time so he could get back and sort things out with Rose, but this _fucking_ band seemed intent on keeping him for the full time that had been booked. 

“You know, if you want the album to sound like shit, be my guest. Keep up the good fucking work. But if you _don’t_ , you’re going to have to quit blowing the fucking bassline and stepping all over each other!”

The women behind the glass looked at each other helplessly, but Ian didn’t bother giving them another glance. He plopped down into the chair, fuming. 

“Do it again. And get it fucking right this time.”

The band counted off, then started to play the song again. Ian listened intently - as intently as he was able, anyway. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at Fergus. His best mate was peering at him, studying him, and Ian wondered just how long he was going to be able to get away with the mood he was in before Fergus called him on it. It had already been two full days, and Fergus had thus far remained silent. That wouldn’t last, he knew. 

When the drummer screwed up again, he pressed the button to stop recording without saying a word. Doing his best not to lose his cool, he dragged his fingers through his hair and counted to five, then ten, then fifteen. Beside him, he felt a motion and heard a click, then Fergus’ voice. 

“Ladies, I think we’re going to take a lunch break. Be back in an hour.”

There was the sound of quiet murmuring from behind the glass, and Fergus’ hand landed on his shoulder. “C’mon, bampot. You and I are going to take a walk.”

Ian didn’t have it in him to argue, so he just sighed and got to his feet, following his best mate, resigned. 

Fergus was silent until they got out to the street, and Ian waited for him to say something. Anything. To chew him out for his arsehole behavior. But Fergus didn’t say anything, just led the way to a nearby pub and went inside. Ian followed, taking a seat across from him and nodding when his best mate ordered him a pint. The patrons of the pub spoke rapid French and it reminded Ian of how he’d thought of bringing Rose here so she could see the sights. Knowing that would likely never happen now made him even more miserable. 

Once the pint was delivered, Fergus took a long drink then leaned forward, lacing the fingers of his hands together in front of him. “Alright. Talk.”

“I don’t know what you --”

“You’ve always been a bit of an arse, Ian, but I’ve never seen you like you’ve been for the last two days. You’re being uncharacteristically mean. Something has happened. Talk.”

Ian pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily, unsure where to start. 

“Is it Rose?” Fergus asked.

He dragged his hands down his face then nodded. “Yeah.”

“What happened?”

“She left me.”

Fergus’ eyebrows shot to his hairline. “She left you?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“What happened?”

“She found out I’m the Doctor.”

The other man looked confused. “I don’t understand. You said she already knew.”

“She did know, but she didn’t understand how famous I am. She thought I was just big in Britain.”

“How did she find out?”

“Something in my flat tipped her off, I’m not sure exactly what. We had gone back to mine Sunday night, and she’d never been there before. We… she was going to spend the night. The first time. We were in the living room and I played for her. Things started heating up, and we decided to go back to my bedroom. But I wanted to light some candles and whatnot, yeah? Create some ambiance. A little romance. She deserves… anyway. She asked to go to the loo and I went to my bedroom to get it ready for her. The next thing I knew, she was dashing by my bedroom, on her way out the door. I caught her and asked her what had happened, and she told me she had to go. She couldn’t stay. Lied and said she had work. I finally got it out of her that she didn’t realize how big I was, said she wasn’t ‘equal to’ me or some shit.” He sighed heavily, remembering that moment and the way it had felt like his entire world had dropped out from beneath him when he realized what was happening. “She left. I begged her to stay, to let me explain, but she didn’t.” 

He chanced a look at Fergus. He’d expected to see some sort of censure in his best friend’s eyes for not making sure Rose understood, or for him to say ‘I told you so’. It was no more than Ian deserved, and God knew he’d been mentally beating the shit out of himself since she’d walked out the door. But he didn’t see any of that. Instead, Fergus’ face was kind. Sympathetic. Curious. 

“Have you tried to ring her?”

Ian shook his head. “I asked if I could call her and she asked me not to, so I haven’t. But she didn’t say anything about texting her. I’ve done my best to respect her space while letting her know that I miss her and want this to work out.”

“How often have you texted her?”

“Twice on Monday, three times yesterday, once this morning. I was going to text her on lunch, actually.”

Fergus nodded. “Have you heard anything back from her?”

“No, and it’s fucking killing me. I have to talk to her, Fergus. I have to make her understand, to ease her mind.” He sighed and ran his hand through his hair again. “There’s no way I’m going to be able to make it through the next two to three weeks without her. If I haven’t heard back from her by Friday, I’m going to call a three day weekend and fly back to London to beg her to forgive me.”

“You can’t do that.”

Ian’s eyes flashed angrily. “Fucking watch me.”

“You’re contracted to be here.”

“Fuck the contract. She’s way more important.” 

“Ian…”

He scrubbed his face with his hands. “I thought she and I were… I thought she… It was just _different_ with her. I mean, she always just treated me like Ian. And it felt so good, so fucking good to be in a relationship with someone and be able to be myself… I’ve never had that, you know? Never, in all my years in this business, have I had a relationship where I could just be Ian. But I _could_ with Rose. I got to just be myself - and she _liked_ it. At least, I thought she did.”

“Ian, think for a second. Put yourself in her shoes. Imagine if you were dating her and thought you knew what you were getting into, but found out suddenly that it was so much bigger than you thought. A whole new world you know nothing about. It’s enough to panic anyone.”

“I know,” he admitted miserably. “I just… I miss her so much, Fergus. So fucking much. And I knew I was going to miss her while I was in France, but this is… this is different. She won’t talk to me and it’s fucking _torture_.” He sighed again, grounding the heels of his hands into his eyes in an attempt to ward off tears. “I ruined everything and I lost her.”

“I don’t think you did,” Fergus told him, and Ian felt a flicker of hope. 

“You don’t?”

“No. Not yet. But you do need to talk to her.”

“I know. That’s why I’m flying back to London on Friday.”

“No, you can’t do that either. My advice to you is to leave it be for a while. Give her the time she asked for.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“You have to, or you’ll run her off.”

 _That_ was a horrifying prospect Ian didn’t want to contemplate, but he didn’t doubt that his best mate was being sincere. Fergus would never knowingly steer him wrong. Perhaps the best course of action would be to do exactly what Fergus was suggesting and just wait it out, as miserable as that would be. 

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“In the meantime, you have _got_ to stop taking out your frustration on these girls. They don’t deserve this, Ian, and you know it.”

Fergus was right again, of course. The Courtesans were not to blame for the tumult in Ian’s love life, and he should be a bigger man than to take it out on them. 

“I know. I’ll do better.”

“You don’t have to be Suzy Sunshine, just don’t go for the jugular at every opportunity. These are fairly talented girls, they’re likely to go far.”

“Yeah.”

Fergus reached across the table and clapped Ian on the shoulder in a bolstering move. “Buck up, bampot. I’m betting you’ll hear something out of her soon.”

Ian looked up hopefully. “You think?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

Christ, Ian hoped so.

~*~O~*~

19 May 2016

Rose’s phone went off in her pocket and she pulled it out, suspecting strongly who the incoming text was from. She was right. 

~Ian: _thinking of you. hope you’re alright. xx_

As she’d requested, he hadn’t called her, but he’d texted her a couple times a day in the three days since Monday. The texts she’d gotten used to receiving every morning still awaited her when she woke up, and he usually texted in the late afternoon then again around bedtime. It was never anything of any real significance: in the mornings, he told her that he hoped she had a great day; in the afternoons, it was something similar to what she’d just gotten - a little message to say he was thinking of her and missed her. At night, he told her he missed her and wished her sweet dreams.

She never answered. 

For the hundredth time, she looked over at the book he’d ordered that had arrived the other day, lying innocuously on the counter. She needed to let him know about it - all the other special orders had been contacted - but she was just afraid. How did someone talk to a superstar? Especially a superstar they were mad about?

It didn't matter. Maybe it was better this way. She was just a shopgirl, a nobody, and he was a world-famous musician and producer. He was _somebody_. A somebody who was currently in the romance capitol of the world, surrounded by beautiful, French pop stars.

Sighing, she sat back down with her journal, pen in hand, and scribbled a few lines. She’d done her best to write out her thoughts and feelings, hoping that by getting them on paper, she’d be able to make sense of them. Thus far, all she’d been able to sort out was that she was mad about a man who was mad for wanting her. Not terribly helpful, that.

The bell over the door rang and Rose looked up. A young woman with dark hair and glasses looked around the shop, seeming to take it in, and Rose went back to staring at Ian’s book, wondering what to do, trying to work up the nerve to contact him. 

“Excuse me,” said the young woman, approaching the counter and breaking into Rose’s thoughts. “I’m wondering if you can help me.”

Rose gave her best fake smile. “Absolutely. What can I do for you?”

“You’re Rose Tyler, are you not?”

She was taken aback, but tried to play it off. “I am. This is my shop, Bad Wolf Books. Can I help you find something?”

“No, I was wondering if I could talk you into having coffee with me.”

Rose blinked, nonplussed, then did her best to give a conciliatory smile. “I’m sorry, I’d love to, but I’m… I’m kind of… seeing someone.”

“I know,” the woman said with a grin. “You’re seeing my bloke’s best friend. Ian. That’s why I’m here.”

Rose was stunned and just stared at the woman for a moment before she narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “You’re Fergus’ girlfriend?”

The other woman laughed. “Yes, although I call him Graham. It’s his real name.”

“Ian sent you?”

“No. He has no idea I’m here.”

“Why are you here?”

“Can I buy you a coffee?” the woman repeated. “I promise, I’m not a nutter and I won’t keep you terribly long.”

The woman certainly _seemed_ sincere, and Rose sensed no malice from her. Still a little suspicious, she nodded. “Yeah, alright. Just let me let my coworker know.”

The other woman smiled. “Of course.” 

Rose dashed to the back and told Donna she’d be taking a break in Torchwood if she was needed. Then she went back out to meet the strange woman standing beside the register. The two ladies went into the coffee shop and placed their orders without much conversation, then had a seat. 

Once there, Rose’s curiosity got the better of her. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

“Oh! I’m terribly sorry about that. We’ve heard all about you, but I guess Ian hasn’t gotten around to telling you much about us, yet. My name is Petronella Osgood, but my friends call me Osgood. You’re more than welcome to. I’m hopeful that you and I will become close.”

Rose wasn’t entirely sure about that right at the moment, but nodded anyway. “Right. Well, Osgood… why are you here, if you’ll forgive me for being so blunt?”

"I'm here to be honest with you. It seems you could use a dose of that."

Rose ruffled a bit, defensively. "Ian didn't lie to me."

"No, but he wasn't entirely open, either. He was being stupid."

"It was a misunderstanding."

Osgood’s eyes were shrewd but kind. "And now that you understand, you're not sure if you want to be with him or not."

"I'm not... I..."

"I get it. I really do. And I'm not here to try to sway you into being with Ian, although I'd like that. I'd like to fill in the blanks and tell you what he should have."

Yes, Rose thought. Someone should definitely fill in the blanks. She took a sip of her coffee, then smiled a little. “I’d appreciate that.”

Osgood seemed relieved. “First, let me tell you that in the years I’ve known Ian, I’ve personally never seen him show more than a casual, polite interest in any woman - until you. Graham has known him a lot longer and says it’s been years and years since he’s seen Ian like this. There’s something about you that’s different.”

Rose ducked her head. “I’m not sure that --”

Osgood interrupted her. “When Graham and I _noticed_ that something was different in the way he talked about you, we both warned him to be honest with you about his job. We told him to tell you everything, specifically to avoid the situation we find ourselves in now.”

“He never got a chance to tell me because I figured it out. But I had no idea he was a worldwide celebrity. I thought he was just… big in Britain,” she finished lamely. “Seems stupid now.”

Osgood reached across the table and squeezed Rose’s hand, surprising her. “It’s not stupid. It was a simple mistake - one anyone could make. So you told him you knew he was the Doctor. Did you discuss it any more?”

Rose shook her head. “It never came up. I figured… I figured we’d talk about it eventually, but, well, I guess we never got around to it.”

The brunette woman gazed at Rose with sympathetic eyes. “Can I tell you what he should have told you?”

She sniffed, fighting back the tears she felt prickling, then smiled. “Please do. I feel like I’m lost.”

Osgood squeezed her again then let go, bringing her own hand back across the table. “First, your trust in Ian is not misplaced. He’s one of the kindest, most wonderful men I’ve ever known. I know you’re confused, but please don’t think that he meant to mislead you. He didn’t.”

“I know,” she admitted.

“Second, please know that I’ve got a fair idea of how you feel. My bloke is a musician like Ian. They’re best mates and coworkers. Graham is in Paris with Ian right now, as a matter of fact. That’s how I found out about all of this. He called me.”

“Ferg- Graham did?”

The other woman nodded. “Ian was being an absolute arse to the band he was recording, and Graham finally got it out of him what was wrong. He’s terrified he’s lost you.”

“I’m not good enough for him,” Rose said quietly. 

“You’re perfect for him, I think.”

“You hardly know me.”

“No, but Ian does. It's hard sometimes for a celebrity to truly connect with people, because they learn to question the motives of everyone they meet. So they are most grateful and faithful if they actually find an honest connection. A relationship that’s not fan/celebrity or celebrity/businessperson. And I believe that’s what Ian has found with you. He loves that you see him for himself, not as the Doctor.”

“But he _is_ the Doctor.”

“Yes, he is. But at his core, he’s Ian. The Doctor is just who he is for work. If Ian says he wants this, you can trust that he’s speaking the truth and not saying it lightly. He would never toy with you. He’s not the type.”

Rose digested that for a minute, fiddling with her coffee cup. Her instinct was saying she should trust this woman, and she desperately wanted to. If Osgood was to be believed, then she and Ian could be together. And, honestly, she had no reason to doubt Ian’s sincerity. He hadn’t lied to her. It had been a simple - albeit colossal - misunderstanding.

“What’s it like?” she asked, not looking up, feeling shy. 

“What’s what like?”

“Dating a… a star.”

Osgood smiled gently. “The lifestyle takes some getting used to, especially at first. There are separations and tours and screaming fans who want to tear the clothes off your bloke, and that’s not always easy to deal with. The jealousy can be hard. But I’ve never doubted Graham’s faithfulness. He’s never given me any cause to. You’ll have no cause to doubt Ian, either. Honestly, the hardest part is being away from each other so often, but even that gets easier over time.”

As much as Rose had missed Ian over the last couple of days, she couldn’t imagine ever getting used to that feeling, but didn’t doubt the other woman was being genuine. She just… wanted Ian. 

“Do you honestly think I can do this?” she asked quietly, not looking up.

“I think you’re the perfect person for this. Ian needs someone to keep him grounded, just like Graham does. No matter who he is when he’s on stage or in the studio, he’s just a bloke when he’s home. He still leaves dirty towels in the bathroom floor and puts the milk carton back in the fridge empty. I’m sure Ian will have some unsavory and annoying - but endearing - habits as well.”

Osgood’s eyes twinkled and Rose felt herself smiling back a little. 

“I’m still reeling from all this,” she admitted. “Not really sure what to think. I’m not entirely sure I’m cut out for this life, and it wouldn’t be fair to Ian for me to try and fail. I’m not sure what to do.”

“Well, why don’t you start by taking advantage of the fact that you have a new friend who has been the girlfriend of a rock star for the last four years? Ask me anything you’d like.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely." Osgood took a sip of her coffee, then sat the cup down and smiled. "Fire away.”


	17. Chapter 17

19 May 2016 (cont)

Ian scrubbed his face with his hands. He’d been doing that a lot since yesterday, when he’d talked to Fergus. He’d been trying, he really had, to be less of a prick to the Courtesans. It hadn’t been easy, but he’d been doing his best. It helped that they’d been _slightly_ less shitty today. Just slightly, but enough to rein in his temper a bit. 

He rubbed his fingers across his forehead, sighing, letting the caterwauling guitar player on the other side of the glass do whatever the fuck she wanted. He had other things to worry about. Like, what the fuck was he going to do about Rose? Fergus said to leave her alone, and he was trying, but the urge to hop a plane to London was growing stronger every moment. Today was Thursday, and he was still determined, if he hadn’t heard from her, to take off back home tomorrow and plead for her forgiveness. He _had_ to work things out with her. She _had_ to forgive him. 

Ian didn’t know what to do, though, in the meantime, which was an unusual circumstance for him. He felt sure that had any of the women in his past done this, he’d have let them go without a thought. But this was _Rose_ and, as established, everything was different with her. He wanted her - not just sexually, he wanted her in his life. He gloried in holding her, kissing her. Just knowing that she was nearby comforted him. Being with her gave him a sense of rightness, of contentment, of _completion_ that he’d never had before.

Rose had said she just needed time to think, and it had given him hope that this was just a temporary storm which would blow over, that very soon it would all be a memory and when he got back to England he would be able to hold her again, the way he was dying to. That he’d be able to show her just what she’d come to mean to him over the last few months, that he’d be able to make her understand and believe. That he could get out of this awful limbo he was stuck in and just _be with_ her. 

But what if she came to the conclusion that he’d lied to her or his life was too much to cope with? What if she just didn’t want to be with him, now that she knew everything? What would he do then? 

“Why do you have that?” a cultured voice with a lilting French accent asked from beside him. He blinked to refocus his attention and turned to see Reinette Poisson, gorgeous lead singer of the Courtesans, sitting in the other engineer’s chair in Fergus’ absence. She had claimed to want to know more about production and, although Ian was in no mood to teach a simpering pop star how to do his job, he’d remembered his promise to Fergus to be kinder to the band and had allowed her to stay in the booth. She was pointing a long, manicured finger at Ian’s mobile, lying on the armrest of the board. 

“It’s my mobile,” he snapped. “Surely you fucking have one. Probably with pink fucking rhinestones all over it.”

The blonde rolled her eyes with a smile. “Of course I have one. I just wondered why you had yours sitting up there like that. Most people carry them in their pockets or purses.”

“Well, I’m not carrying a purse, as you may have fucking guessed by the fact that I’m male. And as for carrying it in my fucking pocket, mind your fucking business.”

“You swear a lot.”

“Excellent observation.”

She seemed to take the hint, although she stayed where she was. He didn’t care, as long as she kept her fucking yap shut. His patience was straining the leash and he wasn’t in the mood for idle fucking chatter. 

The truth was, he wasn’t entirely sure why he was keeping it out on the board and in his sight. It was a constant temptation to do what Rose had asked him not to do and call her. But he held on to this mad hope that she was going to ring him at any time, tell him that everything was alright, and he’d be able to fucking _breathe_ again. The more time that ticked by without that happening, the more miserable he was. 

The impulse to go against her wishes and call was nearly overpowering, but he knew, deep down, that he wouldn’t do what she’d asked him not to do. He wasn’t willing to do anything that would make her feel uncomfortable. She was entirely too precious to him to -- 

“You’re not like most other gentlemen, are you, Doctor?”

“Who said I’m a fucking gentleman?” he ground out between clenched teeth, refusing to turn around and acknowledge the woman who was reminding him of a fucking housefly. 

“Man, then. Men. You’re not like other men.”

“I should fucking hope not.”

She giggled, and the sound was like sandpaper to his nerves, especially given the fact that the sound of Rose’s laugh was like music to him. Rose’s laugh never sounded forced, like she was trying too hard to impress him. She’d never put on airs - and didn’t need to. This woman… Ian rolled his eyes. 

His phone lit up and vibrated beside his left elbow. He snatched it up quickly, opening the messaging app.

~Rose - _the book you ordered is here_

Ian stared at the little screen for a moment, ignoring the lead guitarist behind the glass, trying to ignore Reinette asking him who it was. 

~Ian - _thanks_

He decided immediately that ‘thanks’ had been a lame fucking response and wanted to kick himself, even as he sat his phone back down again. Reinette continued to prattle beside him, and he finally snapped at her with all the venom he could muster.

“What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?”

She shrugged delicately. “I find you very interesting, Doctor. I’d like to get to know you better.”

“Piss off. Go find someone else to bother. Better yet, go practice. You fucking need it.”

Reinette huffed but got to her feet, flouncing off. Once she was safely out of his fucking sight, he was able to think again.

Should he text her something else? There were so many things to talk about… so many things to say. But it all boiled down to:

~Ian - _Are you alright?_

It took a couple of minutes for her to respond. 

~Rose - _Yeah, I’m fine._

Well, that was good news, but not what he’d been hoping to hear. He’d wanted to hear that she’d processed and digested everything, that everything was alright, that he could finally relax. She hadn’t said any of that, though, so there was only one thing left he could say.

~Ian - _you’re in my spot._

He did his best to work while he waited for a response to that. Two full takes were recorded with minimal input from him. Fergus came back to the booth and took up his usual seat. Ian barely noticed. He was entirely too focused on the device beside him. Would she answer? He wasn’t sure - 

~Rose - _just had lunch. I had to throw away the pickle_  
~Ian - _You couldn’t eat it?_

Her response was immediate and made him laugh, earning an odd look from Fergus. 

~Rose - _pickles are disgusting._

He smiled down at his phone. She was playing with him a little, and that was an absolutely wonderful sign. Maybe all wasn’t lost.

~Ian - _I’m pretty sure you can tell them that you don’t want pickles and they’ll accommodate you_  
~Rose - _I know this bloke, have lunch with him sometimes. He’s barmy enough to like them. I don’t mind sharing with him._

Ian’s heart pounded in his chest and he didn’t even notice Marie, the guitar player, trying to get his attention at first. When he did -- 

“Fucking _what_?”

“I was asking if we could have another take.”

“Your solo currently sounds like a dying calf in a fucking hailstorm, I daresay we’ll be doing a few more takes.”

Fergus sighed. “Ian…”

The phone went off in his hand and he turned it up to face him. 

~Rose - _I miss you._

“Five minute break,” Ian announced, ignoring all the confused questions from the band members hanging around and Fergus’ rolled eyes. He sprang out of his chair and started walking down the corridor, looking for a quiet place, tapping on his phone. 

~Ian - _yeah?_  
~Rose - _yeah._

He found an empty office and as soon as he was inside, he dialed Rose. She picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“I miss you too, sweetheart.”

“Ian,” she said on a relieved-sounding exhale, and it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard up to that moment. 

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“Really, Rose.”

“I’m… I’m still confused and a little scared about all this, to be honest.”

“Scared about what?”

“This is a big deal, Ian. You’re a big deal. I mean, I looked on the publisher’s warehouse. They have twelve biographies about you in stock!”

Ian crossed the office to sit down in the leather chair behind the desk. “Rose, sweetheart, none of those would tell you about _me_. You know _me_. Am I anything to be scared of?”

“I don’t think so...”

“I’m not going to hurt you, sweetheart. I’d rather die. If I ever _do_ hurt you, it’ll be a complete accident.”

“I know that,” she acknowledged. “I’m not worried about you hurting me. Not really.”

He grinned a little at ‘not really’. “Tell me what’s scaring you.”

“This whole life you lead. Magazine covers and award shows and… all of that.”

“Nothing between you and me is going to change because I’m the Doctor. You and me will be you and me.”

“I’m not trying to change your life, Ian.”

“Too late, sweetheart. You already have.”

She didn’t say anything for a minute, and he just leaned back in the chair and kicked his heels up on the desk, more at ease than he’d been in seventy-two hours. “Christ, Rose, it feels so fucking good to hear your voice. Talk to me, please.”

She giggled, and even through the tinny speaker of his phone, it was a magical sound. It was a balm. 

“What do you want me to say?”

_Several things._

“Anything. What kind of day have you had? What did your last customer buy? Is Jack behaving himself? Anything at all, sweetheart. I just want to hear you talk.”

“I met Osgood.”

Ian hadn’t been expecting _that_. His feet fell off the desk. “You _what_?”

“Osgood. Fergus’ girlfriend. She came in and we talked for a little over an hour. She just left thirty minutes ago.”

“Talked about what?”

“You, mostly. What it would be like to be the Doctor’s girlfriend.”

His heart was in his throat. “And?”

“And… I think I’m willing to try it.”

“Oh thank Christ,” he let out in a rush, closing his eyes and covering them with his hand. All his worries evaporated with those words, and Ian felt five stone lighter. To make sure he hadn’t misheard, he asked, “You’re serious?”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I’m… I can’t say I’m not intimidated by all of this. Fans and tours and groupies and whatnot.” Her voice got even quieter. “But you’re worth it.”

“I’ll do my damnedest to be worthy of you, sweetheart. I’ll never succeed, but I’ll try.”

“You’re wonderful.”

He relaxed a little. “So you’re willing to give this old life a spin?”

“With you? I suppose I am.”

Ian could have floated away in that moment. 

“What did Osgood tell you?”

“She had only kind things to say about you. She said that I would be good for you, would keep you grounded.”

“That’s true.”

“She talked to me a bit about the separations and touring. She said it’s the worst part.”

“Yeah.”

“Osgood said that it takes boundless patience and an incredibly open mind to be the partner of a celebrity. I just don’t know if I’m going to be good at that. I mean, I don’t think I’m a terribly jealous person, but I don’t know how I’m going to react to women screaming and throwing their knickers at my bloke.”

“Sweetheart, you never have to worry about any other woman. My focus is on you, nobody but you.”

“I know. She told me that I could trust you. That you weren’t like other men.”

“Try not to be, anyway.” Thank _Christ_ for Osgood. Ian resolved to do something extraordinarily sweet for her when he got back… and to thank his best mate, as well. “Did she say anything else?”

“She said the separations get better over time. That it was hard on her and Graham at first, that she struggled with jealousy and missing him, but she trusted him implicitly and over time, you get used to missing each other.”

“I can’t fucking imagine that,” Ian admitted. “I miss you so much right now, sweetheart. So fucking much. Do you want me to come home tomorrow?” he asked, impulsive.

She sounded surprised. “Can you? I thought you were contracted to be there for another two weeks.”

“I am. But I had decided I was going to come home and beg you to take me back if I hadn’t heard from you. It was killing me, Rose.”

“Won’t you be in breach of contract if you leave?”

“Yes.”

“Then stay. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, anxious. “If it’s a decision between breaking the contract and keeping you, I’m not just going to break the contract, I’m going to fucking shatter it.”

Rose gave a tiny giggle. “I’ll be here when you get home. I swear. But I have to be honest, Ian... I’m still a little scared of all this. I’m just a shopgirl.”

“I know, sweetheart. But I promise you can handle this. This isn’t really all that terrifying.”

“Not to you,” she grumbled and he grinned. 

“I won’t let it be terrifying to you. Anything I can do to keep it from being overwhelming, I will. I’ll change anything around that I need to, alright? It’s not a bad life, I swear.”

“Better with two.”

Ian thought he’d melt into a puddle at that moment and was startled when there was a banging on the other side of the door. “Doctor! We’re waiting on you.”

“Shit. I have to go, Rose.”

“Go work.”

“Can I call you again?” he asked, feeling terribly vulnerable.

“You can call or send a text whenever you’re free. If I’m not with a customer or asleep, I’ll answer.”

His heart beat a double time in his chest - he felt pretty good about the answer to the next question, but he wasn’t a hundred percent certain. That little bit of uncertainty was terrifying. 

Quietly, softly, he asked, “Rose?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you when I get home?”

She was quiet for two beats - that seemed like eternity - then she told him with an audible smile. “Not if you’ve just eaten a pickle.”

Ian grinned, wanting to collapse with relief. 

“Other than that, you’d _better_ kiss me, Ian Docherty.”

The banging was back at the door, and Ian made a rude gesture towards it. “I have to go, sweetheart.”

“Talk to you soon?”

“Soon and often,” he promised. 

“I miss you.”

His heart tripped all over itself at her words. “I miss you, too.”

“Bye.”

“Bye, sweetheart.”

Ian sagged in the chair for a minute, smiling dazedly, his head slumped over on his shoulder in relief. She was going to stay with him. She was going to stay with him! He hadn’t lost his sweetheart after all!

Suddenly energized, he jumped to his feet and bounded out the door, meeting Fergus in the corridor. Ian threw his arms around his very surprised best friend and hugged him tight. 

“That was Rose, I take it?” Fergus commented, still wrapped up in the hug.

Ian released him, grabbed him by the face and planted a kiss right on his mouth. “That’s for you, you beautiful bastard, for sending Osgood to talk to Rose.”

“Good news?” Fergus smirked.

“The best. She’s staying with me. She’s staying with me, Fergus!”

“I’m happy for you, bampot. Think you can go on now?”

The two men started down the corridor towards the studio, but Ian wasn’t over his bubbly mood. “Osgood... bloody hell, she’s fucking brilliant, mate.”

“That’s why I love her.”

“I’m going to buy her a car.”

Fergus barked a laugh. “I don’t think that’s entirely necessary.”

“Alright, then, I’ll buy her some jewelry. Women like jewelry, right?”

“Have you ever known Oz to wear jewelry?” Fergus asked, dry. “Blimey, you’re downright daft over this woman.”

“I’ve never felt so good in my entire life,” he enthused, opening the door to the booth and going inside. When he took his place behind the board, the band eyed him warily from inside the studio. He just smiled when he pressed the button to speak to them. 

“Alright, you lot, here’s what I want you to do. Anais, you’re trying too hard. Relax a little. Marie, same to you. Nobody’s expecting you to channel Stevie Ray, here. Just let it flow. Reinette, a little pitchy, try a lozenge. And Elodie, I’m going to have Graham sit in for you on a couple of takes, but I don’t want you to get discouraged. He’s just laying down a backbone, yeah? Now. I want all of you to think for a second about the song and try to fucking _feel_ it on this take. Don’t worry so much about the technicalities of playing, just _feel_ it. I guarantee you’ll like the results a hundred times more. Alright? Fantastic. Now, from the top!”

He sat down in the producer’s chair, still smiling, ignoring the bewildered looks on the other side of the glass and Fergus’ snort from beside him. Nothing could bring him down right now. He was on top of the world.


	18. Chapter 18

21 May 2016

~Ian: _*image.jpg*_  
~Rose: _Oh! You went to the Eiffel Tower?_  
~Ian: _I passed it. thought of you. I’d like to bring you back here sometime._  
~Rose: _I’d like that, if I could ever get the shop to a point I could leave_  
~Ian: _you’re doing great. It’ll get there_  
~Rose: _thanks <3_  
~Ian: _and that offer doesn’t have an expiration date. whenever you’re free, we’ll go_  
~Rose: _you’re too sweet_  
~Ian: _only to you. don’t tell anyone or you might ruin my reputation xx_  
~Rose: _lol!_

~*~O~*~

23 May 2016

As had become habit over the last few days, Ian called for an hour-long break late in the evening, around the time Rose would be going to bed. Ostensibly, he wanted to give the band a chance to regroup then come back for the last few hours of recording recharged and refreshed, but in actuality, he just wanted to be able to talk to his sweetheart before she went to sleep. Only Fergus seemed to suspect, but he didn’t complain. He just used his time to phone Osgood. 

Ian made his way down to the little office he’d taken to camping out in while he talked to Rose every night. Once inside, he pulled out his phone and went to the chair, pulling up Rose’s contact. 

~Ian - _okay to call?_

Ever since their conversation in which she told him she was going to stay with him, they’d texted nearly continuously - or as continuously as they were able, considering they were both working. Despite lags in the conversation, they never really stopped talking - about anything, really. Ian’s phone buzzing beside his elbow on the armrest of the board had become a regular occurrence, and he always felt lighter and more happy when it did. Even from a country away, she soothed him. 

He had barely kicked his feet up on the desk when the phone rang in his hand. 

“Hello?”

“Of course it’s okay to call. It’s always okay to call.”

Ian melted into the chair. “Hey there, sweetheart. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to wake you up.”

“It would have been fine if you had. I don’t mind. I’d rather talk to you than sleep, anyway.”

He chuckled, then looked around the room. “What time is it?”

“Half ten. Really, Ian, it’s fine.”

“If you’re sure…” he started, then sighed happily. “It’s so good to hear your voice, Rose.”

“I miss you, too,” she told him, understanding him perfectly. He smiled. 

“How was your Monday?”

“Alright, I suppose. We set the date for the next open mic night, it’s two weeks from Saturday. And today the sci-fi book club met for the first time. The romance book club had their second meeting yesterday. It’s been busy, but things are steadily picking up.”

“That’s excellent,” he said, smiling. “I knew you could do it.”

“Well, I’m not there yet,” she hedged. “But I have to admit, it’s going a little faster than I’d expected. At this rate, I should be able to hire some help soon.”

“That’s even better news,” he enthused. 

Rose giggled. “You’re only saying that because it’ll free me up to spend time with you.”

“Well, I won’t deny that that’s a definite perk…” She giggled again and he smiled. “But really, sweetheart. You need a break. You’ve been burning the candle at both ends since January. Eventually, without some real time off, you’ll burn out.”

She sighed. “I know. I’m getting there.”

She sounded done with the topic and Ian didn’t harp on it. 

“Speaking of time off,” he started, his voice low and (he hoped) seductive, “I’ll probably be home on Thursday. Can I take you to dinner that night?”

“You’re almost done?” she squealed.

“Just about. The studio is rented out through 8 June, but we’ll be wrapping up sooner than that.”

“And you’ll be coming home,” she sighed. 

He melted a little. “And I’ll be coming home.”

“I’ve missed you so much, Ian.”

“I know, sweetheart. I’ve missed you, too. We’ll have to make up for lost time once I’m home. We’ve been together almost a month, and I’ve been gone nearly half that time. Doesn’t seem fucking fair.”

He could hear the smile in her voice. “You know how long we’ve been together?”

“Of course I do. I kissed you for the first time on the first of May, on the street corner at two in the morning.”

“I never would have pegged you to be the type bloke to know those things.”

“I never would have either, honestly. You bring out hidden depths in me, Rose Tyler.”

She giggled, but it dissolved into a cooing sound, almost a mewl. The sound went straight to his cock.

“Sweetheart? Are you alright?”

“Just settling into bed. Feels good.”

Oh he just bet it did. In a flash of daring, he said, “I wish I was with you.”

Her voice was impossibly sexy when she asked, “Is that so? What would you do if you were?”

His cock hardened further. “There’s absolutely nothing I’d rather do right now than discuss this with you, but I’m not sure this is a conversation we should be having while I’m at work,” he admitted.

“Maybe we can discuss it Thursday night?” 

Ian closed his eyes and willed his cock to behave itself. “If you want.”

She chuckled on the other end of the line. “I want.”

“Sweetheart, we’re going to have to change the subject now, or I’m going to hop a flight back to London and breach this contract.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that.” She giggled, but the seductive note to her voice was gone. “How’s it going with the band? Well?”

“Alright, I suppose. They’ve never been in a real studio before, but they’ve caught on fairly quickly. I think the album will be a hit.”

“That’s still so fascinating to me. My bloke makes hit records.”

“Try to, anyway.”

“I spent a little while with Osgood today,” she told him. 

“Oh? What did Osgood have to say?”

“Not much. We’re just getting to know each other a bit, getting to be friends. She’s _really_ sweet.”

“She is. I told Fergus I was going to buy her a car in thanks for talking you into staying with me.”

Rose laughed. “You did not.”

“I did, too. And I meant it. He talked me out of it.”

“She didn’t talk me into staying with you. Not really. She just...eased my mind.”

“See, that’s worth a Range Rover to me.”

She giggled. “My silly bloke.”

“That I am, sweetheart. Downright goofy for you.”

“I know I’ve already said, but… I really do miss you.”

“I miss you too, sweetheart. More than you know. But you won’t have to miss me much longer. I’ll be home soon. And when I get there, I’m likely to attach myself to your side and not let you out of my sight for a while. I fear I may be rather clingy.”

“Fine by me,” she told him, then yawned. “I’m not sure I’ll want you away from me, anyway.”

“I’m going to let you go for now, though, sweetheart. You need to sleep.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I do. I’m keeping you awake.”

“I told you, I’d rather talk to you.”

“I’d rather talk to you, too, but you’ll be unable to talk to me tomorrow when I call if you don’t sleep now.”

“Oh, alright,” she conceded. Then she asked in a softer, shyer voice, “Ring me tomorrow?”

“What time?”

“When are you free?”

“I’m free whenever you want to talk to me. You name the time.”

“Why don’t you ring me on your lunch break?”

“I’ll be happy to.”

“It’s a date.”

He grinned. “It’s a date.”

“Talk to you tomorrow, then?”

“Yes, ma’am. Sweet dreams, sweetheart.”

“Goodnight, Ian.”

~*~O~*~

25 May 2016

~Rose: _I’m interviewing tenants for Dad’s flat over the next week or so_  
~Ian: _oh?_  
~Rose: _yeah. There’s been a good response._  
~Ian: _anyone promising?_  
~Rose: _two couples and two single people, a man and a woman_  
~Ian: _hope they’re not partiers_  
~Rose: _that’s what I’m aiming to find out by interviewing_  
~Rose: _but they all seemed nice when they turned in the application, so I’m hopeful_  
~Ian: _you should have Jack interview with you, he has a good sense about people_  
~Rose: _you think?_  
~Ian: _read both of us like a book, didn’t he?_  
~Rose: _that’s very true. glad he did_  
~Ian: _me too, sweetheart. xx_

~*~O~*~

29 May 2016

Ian kicked back in the leather chair behind the desk, positively bathing in the sound of his sweetheart’s voice. 

“How’s it going?” she asked.

“Alright. The band is getting stronger every day. This has the potential to be a really good album. I’m pleased.”

“Good!” She sounded genuinely happy to hear it, and Ian thanked the stars for his fortune in finding her. 

“I wrote another song, too.”

“Another one? Isn’t this the third one since you’ve been gone?”

“Yep.”

“What’s it about?”

He smirked a little. “The same girl as the others. I can’t be with her right now, and she’s all I can think about.”

He could hear the smile in her voice. “My goodness. This girl must be something special.”

“She’s more precious than she knows.”

Rose was quiet for a second, and Ian wondered if he’d said too much. He started to try to think of ways to backtrack (even though he’d meant every word), but Rose spoke up.

“I...kinda did some writing, too.”

He raised an eyebrow, even though she couldn’t see it. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Same thing. My bloke is out of town and I think about him all the time.”

Ian was stunned. He’d never expected to hear anything like _that_ from her, but he was coming to learn that Rose was full of surprises. He chastised himself for underestimating her. 

“What kind of writing?”

“Poetry. It’s the only thing I know how to write. God, I can’t believe I’m telling you this,” she said in a rush. “You’ve written number one songs that sold millions of copies. Why would you care about my scribbles in my journal?”

“Because you wrote them,” he told her simply. “That makes them priceless. Songs are nothing more than poetry set to music, anyway. We could take anything you’ve written and make a song out of it.”

“I can’t imagine such a thing.”

“It’s true. You could be a songwriter.” 

Rose laughed. “I’ll never be anything more than a glorified shopgirl.”

His instinct was to lash out at such a statement, but he didn’t. “Can I read what you’ve written?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that…” she hedged.

“I won’t push you, if you want to keep it private. But I _am_ in the market for lyrics…”

“You write your own music,” she pointed out. 

“You’re missing me and I’m missing you. We’re writing about the same things. No reason we can’t collaborate. Besides,” he cut her off. “I’m absolutely certain your writings are brilliant.”

“They’re just my thoughts and feelings.”

“That’s why they’re bound to be brilliant,” he explained patiently. “Tell you what. You write something that you won’t mind me seeing. Could be about anything. I’ll make it into a song, and you’ll be a songwriter.”

“Ian…”

“Please, sweetheart? I’ll help you, if you want. Just come to me with a few lines and we’ll fill in the rest.”

“You’re daft, do you know that?”

“Absolutely. Will you?”

Rose sighed. “I’ll think about it. When do you want it by?”

“This isn’t an assignment for school. Just whenever you get to it. I’ll be ready.”

She was quiet for a second, but he waited her out. 

“You’re absolutely mad.”

“That I am, sweetheart.”

She sighed. “Oh, alright. But don’t expect much. I’m not a professional.”

“You’re fucking brilliant, is what you are.”

She was smiling again, he could hear it. “I’m glad you think so. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too, sweetheart. Just a few more days.”

“I think I can make it.”

~*~O~*~

1 June 2016

Ian felt the Doctor slipping farther and farther behind him the closer he got to home. He’d never really put much emphasis on the delineation between his work and personal lives before. The two had always blended, and that had been fine. 

Now, though, he was with Rose and he wanted the boundaries to be as clear as they could be - at least for a while. If he had any luck, she’d be with him for a long time, and she’d certainly see the Doctor, up close and personal. He wanted her to have as much time as possible for them to get used to each other as Ian and Rose before they had to face the realities of his job. There would always be overlap, he knew, but he wanted to minimize it as much as possible while she acclimated. Especially given the way she’d reacted when she found out.

Ian’s flight landed around lunchtime, but by the time he got through all the hassle of baggage claim and in a taxi home, it was heading towards two. He’d never been more anxious to get to his flat in his entire life and harangued the poor cab driver into driving a little more aggressively than the man seemed comfortable with. In recompense, Ian tipped generously. 

He’d barely dumped his bags in the living room before he was out the door again, headed towards Rose’s shop with a spring in his step. It had been exactly two weeks and one day since he’d seen her last, and somehow, he’d managed to survive the separation. But that was behind him, now. He was going to be in her presence in just a few minutes, he was going to be able to hold her and touch her, and he could hardly wait. 

On impulse, he stopped in at the florist. But even a raised eyebrow from the grumpy man who ran the shop, Aiden, couldn’t bring Ian down. He just paid for the large bouquet of pink and yellow roses and stepped back out into the street, whistling happily. 

The bells jingled over the door of the bookshop, and Ian couldn’t help but smile. He pulled off his sunglasses and hung them on his shirt, looking around to see if he could find his sweetheart. Donna was standing at the front counter, and he was surprised when the corner of the redhead’s mouth quirked up when she saw him. 

“Oh, she’ll be thrilled to see you, she will.”

“Where is she?” 

Donna pointed through the archway into Torchwood and Ian muttered thanks before he set out to see Rose. 

She had her back to him, sitting in the spot he usually occupied when they had coffee or lunch together, which made him smile. She was propped on one elbow, looking down at the journal in front of her, tapping her pen against the paper. As he watched, she put pen to paper and wrote a couple lines of text. He smiled, feeling the tension of the last couple of weeks bleed out of him, just from being in the same room as her. But that wasn’t enough. So be bent forward and murmured in her ear:

“Pardon me, sweetheart. You’re in my spot.”

Rose jumped a mile, spinning around with her hand over her heart, and he barely had time to smile at her before she was squealing, throwing herself to her feet and into his arms. He laughed with joy and held her close. _Christ_ , it felt good to have her in his arms again. 

Within a few seconds their lips were pressed together, and Ian couldn’t help it, he kissed her like a man starving. Dimly, he was aware of a wolf whistle from the vicinity of the counter and some light applause from the rest of the coffee shop, but he couldn’t care less. His senses were full of _Rose_ \- the way she smelled, the way she tasted, the way she felt in his arms. He could have wept with relief. When she started to pull away, he chased her, parting her lips and dipping his tongue in to taste her more thoroughly. 

After a moment, though, he had the presence of mind to pull back, sliding his free hand up to cup her cheek, putting his forehead to hers. Rose smiled up at him and he sighed, happier than he could ever remember being. 

“Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hey, handsome. You’re home.”

“I am.”

He kissed her again, softer this time, just a brush of his lips against hers, then hugged her tight, never wanting to let go. The patrons around them quit their impromptu clapping and went back to the quiet conversations they’d abandoned. Ian was in his own little world, wrapped up in the woman he was holding. 

At length, he pressed one final kiss to her lips then pulled away so they could sit. He’d forgotten about the flowers he held and presented them to her with a flourish. 

“What’s all this?”

“Roses for Rose. Pink and yellow flowers for a pink and yellow girl.”

Rose took the bouquet and brought them to her nose, inhaling deeply. “They’re gorgeous, Ian. Thank you.”

“They could never do you justice, sweetheart, but you’re welcome. Can I sit with you awhile?”

“Absolutely!” she beamed, and he held out her chair for her, then bent and kissed her quickly before he slid into his own chair across from her. Once he was seated, he reached across the table and took her hand into his, hungry for any contact with her. The smile hadn’t left her face and he was sure he looked absolutely daft, but he didn’t care.

“Why are you home a day early?” she asked, twining their fingers. “Not that I’m complaining, not at all…”

“Now, Rose. You don’t think I could let our first anniversary pass without seeing you, did you?”

She flushed and he brought her hand up to kiss her knuckles. “I had no idea you were so romantic.”

“Honestly, I didn’t either.”

“Do you have to go back?”

Ian shook his head. “No. I’ll have to do some mixing and mastering, but I can do that here, I don’t need to be in Paris. Besides, I always find that it’s best to let things marinate a bit before you mix them.”

“Really?”

“Yes. But mostly, I just needed to get home to my sweetheart.”

She giggled and he leaned across the table to kiss her again. They were interrupted a moment later.

“Alright now, you two, keep it PG in my shop,” Jack teased. Ian and Rose obediently sat back in their chairs, but he didn’t let go of her hand. 

“Jack. Glad to see you.”

“Glad you’re home, Ian. This one here’s been a little dispirited without you.”

Rose used her spare hand to swat at Jack. “Oh, stop it.”

“It’s true,” he protested. “It was very easy to tell when the two of you’d been talking. She’d go from trudging around the shop to dancing on air. It was cute.”

She flushed, but Ian couldn’t help but smirk a little. “If you were to ask the people I’ve been working with the last couple of weeks, I daresay they’d say much the same about me.”

Jack chuckled. “Wouldn’t surprise me. Here, I brought you coffee, since I figured you’d not come up for air long enough to get it on your own.” Ian raised up to reach for his wallet and Jack stopped him. “No, don’t. This one’s on the house. Just a little ‘welcome home’ present.”

“Thank you,” Ian said sincerely. “I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome. Now, can I trust you two to keep your tongues in your own mouths if I walk away?”

Rose’s face was scarlet, but Ian smirked again. “I’m promising nothing.”

Jack laughed. “I expected not. Just try not to drive any of my business away, alright?” With a wave, he left. 

Ian barely watched him go before his attention was back on Rose. Unable to resist the urge to taste her again, he brought her knuckles back to his lips and kissed her.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Rose gushed, then her eyes widened and she looked a little panicked.

“What is it?”

“I wasn’t expecting you today. I must look a fright!”

He laughed, couldn’t help it. “You’re fucking gorgeous, sweetheart. I’ve missed seeing you so much...”

“But I’ve been in the back room all day --”

“You’re stunning, Rose. Truly. I could just bask in you.”

She smiled at him then and he kissed her hand again. 

“Been writing?” he asked, casually indicating her journal and pen.

Rose glanced down at it and her cheeks heated. “Yeah. Been trying to, anyway. I’m not sure I’ll know what to say. And if I _do_ come up with something, I’m afraid it won’t fit your...style.”

“What do you mean?”

“The stuff I always wrote before was...pretty. Girly-type stuff. It wouldn’t fit well with you.”

“Why not?”

“Well, you play rock-n-roll, right?” 

“Try to, anyway.” 

“I mean, I just can’t imagine you singing a flowery love song.”

Ian raised a challenging eyebrow at her. “Oh, you can’t?”

She shook her head. “No. Besides that, anything I write would be from a woman’s point of view. You are _definitely_ not a woman.”

He chuckled sinfully and she blushed. “No, I’m _definitely_ not a woman,” he agreed in a sexy rumble. A glance over at Jack made him clear his throat and cool his ardor - for the time being. “It doesn’t have to be from a woman’s point of view, and it doesn’t have to be a love song.”

Incredulously, she asked, “Well, what else should I write?”

Ian shrugged again. “You could write about what it’s been like being thrown into the deep end like you have been. You could channel the fear you’ve felt about taking over the shop into an angsty, angry song. Or hopeful...you’d be more likely to be hopeful. You could write about some sort of social or political situation that you either agree or disagree with.”

“What if you don’t see things the same way I do?”

“We’ll write something else, if that’s the case. But I don’t think it will be. You and I have talked for hours upon hours. We’re pretty in sync with each other.”

She digested all of what he’d said. “That’s a lot of options.”

“That’s not even half of it, sweetheart,” he told her with a little grin, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. “You’re a very empathetic person, so it’d be easy for you to write lyrics based on someone else’s experiences.”

“Someone else?”

“Yeah. Putting yourself in someone else’s shoes and writing about what _they’re_ experiencing. I once wrote a song about a bloke who couldn’t get a girl out of his head. He’d tried everything to get over her, and sometimes we’d all think he’d be clear. He’d be doing fine, then he’d see her at the bank or some shit and just like that,” Ian snapped the fingers of his free hand, “he’d be right back on his knees. That wasn’t _my_ life experience, it was his. But I took it and used it and wrote a great song.”

Rose seemed to ponder for a second, then asked, “Is that how you write love songs?”

“Who, me? Nah. Those are easier from personal experience. Of course,” he went on, flirting, “I’ve not ever had much fucking inspiration in that department. Until now.” Rose looked up at him with wide eyes, and he grinned. “Honestly, the way I’ve written love songs most of the time is to imagine what I would want to hear.”

“What you want to hear?”

“That’s right. What I’d like to hear someone say back to me.”

She pondered that for a few moments. “I’m just...I’m not sure what I’m doing.”

“Nobody ever is.” He brought one hand up to brush a stray lock of hair out of her face, dragging his knuckles along her cheek as he did, watching its progress. “Writing is an extremely vulnerable thing. You’re laying part of your soul out for the world to see. I’ve been writing songs for over thirty years, and it’s still intimidating. There’s a certain amount of bravery that comes with writing anything that people will read. I’m not worried about that, Rose. You’re the bravest woman I’ve known in...fuck. Maybe ever. You can do this.”

She looked unsure, and he kissed the back of her hand. If she didn’t want to talk about it right now, they didn’t have to. “Christ, Rose, you’re a sight for sore eyes. I’ve been dying to see you.”

Rose beamed at him. “I missed you, too. When did you get home? Must not have been long ago…”

“I landed a little over an hour ago. Dashed home, threw my bags into the lounge, and came straight here to see my sweetheart.”

Rose giggled. “I’m so glad you did. I wish I didn’t have to work.”

“I wish you didn’t have to, too, but it actually works out in my favor today.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yep. Got plans.”

“What are you up to?”

He just winked at her. “You’ll see.”

“And just when do I get to see?”

“How about if I pick you up when the store closes tonight and we go to dinner?”

Rose flushed just a little. “I’d love to, but… can it be a little after work? I’d like to shower to get the back room dust off of me.”

“Whatever you need to do, sweetheart. How about if I meet you here at… eight? Is that enough time?”

“I can make that work,” she agreed. Then she gave him a suspicious look. “Should I wear anything special for this dinner? Are we going anywhere fancy?”

“You can wear anything that makes you feel comfortable. I don’t care what it is.”

She looked almost shy for a second, then said, “What will we do after dinner?”

“Anything you want, sweetheart. The world is your oyster.”

“I’d like to go back to your flat.”

Ian raised his eyebrows, surprised. “Back to my flat? Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“It’s just that last time --”

“Last time I was taken by surprise and I panicked. Now that I know… well, I won’t panic again.” 

He watched her for a second, sizing her up. “Are you _sure_ , sweetheart? I don’t want to… antagonize anything.”

“I’ll be fine, I promise. Besides,” she added with one corner of her mouth quirked and her eyes downcast, “we had ...plans before I ran away last time. I’d like to pick up where we left off.”

His cock stiffened immediately at her words and he resisted the urge to cross his legs to hide it. “Yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

“Alright. Your wish is my command, sweetheart,” he told her, then kissed her knuckles one last time, his eyes never leaving hers.


	19. Chapter 19

1 June 2016

Rose checked her reflection again, looking for any imperfections. She’d dashed upstairs forty-five minutes before closing to take a shower and dry her hair while Donna held down the fort, then came back downstairs to help close the shop. Once that was done, she dashed upstairs _again_ to get herself completely ready for her date with Ian. She had no idea what he had planned, but she wanted to be ready for anything. As she smoothed the flowy blouse she was wearing, debating it for the hundredth time, she found herself in an odd mixed state of excitement and nervousness. Mostly excitement… with a healthy dose of nervousness. 

A knock came at the door and Rose rushed to answer it, forcing herself to slow down and take a breath before she opened it with a bright smile. On the other side stood Ian, looking absolutely gorgeous in his narrow jeans, blazer and a skull t-shirt. He wore his glasses tonight, and she bit her lip a little, eyeing him appreciatively for a moment before she spoke. 

“Hi!”

“Hello there, sweetheart. Ready to go?”

“I am,” she agreed, grabbing her purse and stepping out into the corridor with him, locking the door. Once that was done, Ian took her hand and they started down the stairs together, Rose’s heart in her throat. 

They stepped out onto the pavement and Rose started to walk towards his parked car, but he didn’t move. She turned to see him standing just outside the door to her flat, smiling faintly. 

“I thought we were headed out to dinner?” she asked, a little confused.

“We are,” he told her, pulling her towards him, putting his hands on her waist. “I just wanted to do this.”

He ducked his head then and kissed her softly, his lips sliding along hers. She melted into his kiss, opening for him when he nibbled her bottom lip, her tongue hesitantly seeking his out. She was floating when he pulled away. 

“There,” he near-whispered. 

Rose blinked up at him. “What was that for?”

“Kissing you for the first time on this street corner was one of the loveliest moments of my life. I just wanted to recreate it.”

The smile on her face grew with each passing second until she was sure she looked quite goofy. “Was it as lovely the second time around?”

He bumped her nose with his. “Every kiss with you is more beautiful than the last.” 

She smiled radiantly and he kissed her upturned lips before he took her hand again. “Come on. Let’s get you fed.”

“Where are we going?” 

“Well, since you couldn’t be with me in France this time, I thought I’d take you to a French restaurant. Just to tide you over until I can take you to the real thing.”

Rose flushed a little. “I’ve never had French food before. Not really. I mean, we had crepes every now and then, but nothing fancy.”

“You’re in for a treat,” Ian enthused. “France has some of the best food in the world.”

Insecurity flashed within her. “Am I underdressed?” 

Ian raised his arms to indicate himself, blazer and skull shirt and jeans, and smirked at her. 

Rose rolled her eyes a little. “It’s different for you. Blokes can get away with more than a woman can. I’m just in jeans and flats.”

He pretended to consider her for a moment, stepping back, raising her arm, and twirling her so he could get a better look. Rose just giggled a little. Once she had made a full rotation, he put his arm around her waist, tugged her close, and kissed her lightly. “You’re a vision, sweetheart, and you look absolutely perfect.”

“I just don’t want to embarass you…”

“You never could,” he assured her. He walked to the passenger side of his car to open the door for her. “Come on,” he encouraged. “Let’s go have dinner.”

“So we can get back?” she asked a tad nervously - but definitely hopefully.

His eyes darkened and she shivered. “Absolutely.”

~*~O~*~

Once Rose had told him she wanted to come back to his flat, Ian had set out to make the place ready for her visit. As she usually did while he was away, Clara had gotten his post and checked on things while he was gone, and he hadn’t made the mistake of leaving perishable food in the fridge this time. That had been wise on his part, since the stench from last time had lingered for a while. But it left him, after two weeks, in the unenviable position of having nothing to eat in the house. He had intended to take her out to dinner, and still did, but if things went the way he hoped they would (and the way she’d hinted at), she’d come back to his and stay ‘til morning. She’d want breakfast, he was sure. And wasn’t it just polite to have nibbles on hand so he could offer her something? How the fuck was he supposed to know? Polite entertainment wasn’t in his wheelhouse before now. But that _seemed_ like the thing to do.

So he had gone to the grocery - one of his most hated tasks - picking up a selection of foods he thought she may like to nibble on and getting the ingredients for a decent breakfast. Then he’d come back to the flat, gotten things as ready as he could make them, and set out to pick her up. 

She’d professed not to know what to order when they got to dinner, only requesting that they not eat snails, and Ian had chuckled. He’d told her what he enjoyed, listing off some of his favorite dishes, then suggested if she wanted to play it safe, she may enjoy some roast pork and vegetables. 

“That sounds good,” she decided, closing her menu and passing it to the waiter. 

“And for you, sir?”

“I’ll have the same,” Ian said, copying her motions. 

“Very good, sir,” the waiter said, taking the menus. “I’ll be back shortly with more wine.”

The waiter disappeared in the maze of tables and Ian reached across the table to take Rose’s hand. She smiled at him, biting her lip a little, flushing in the candlelight. 

“Tell me more about what it’s going to be like, being your girlfriend. I know Osgood can’t have told me everything…”

“No, there’s no way she could have told you everything.”

She squeezed his hand. “So you tell me. What’s your life like?”

He hesitated, weighing what he needed to tell her, trying to come up with the best way to say everything that needed to be said without making it sound intimidating. He had a fine line to walk, and he knew it. 

“My life is...different. And I want you to be a part of it, but I want you to know what to expect.”

“Okay,” she agreed, her face open. Anxiety took him again, took his words, and he just looked at her, unsure what to say. 

“Hey,” she said. Rose twisted her hand and threaded their fingers together, and that soothed him more than he’d ever want to admit. 

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“You’re not going to scare me off.”

Ian let out a sardonic, humorless huff. “I’m going to try not to, but I still might.”

“Try me. I think you’ll find I’m made of sterner stuff than you give me credit for. Yes, I ran away when I didn’t know anything, but now I’m braced for impact, yeah?”

“There’s just… I don’t know, Rose.” 

Her voice was firmer when she spoke again. “I’m not going to run away again, Ian. I’ve had two weeks to think about it, to make some decisions. I’m not running because things are going to get weird, I’m tougher than that.”

Something inside of him relaxed and he broke into a smile. He brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “I think you’re amazing. You’re the toughest woman I’ve ever known.”

Rose made a ‘come on’ gesture with her free hand. “Let’s have it. Lay it on me.”

“I’ve no fucking idea where to begin…”

“How about with whatever you’re doing now? Writing an album?”

_No more putting it off._

“Yes. I’m about to record an album,” he started. “I’ve got a handful of scratch tracks, but need at least ten more. I’m still writing songs. Once I have those, I’ll start recording.”

“What are scratch tracks?”

“Kind of a blueprint to create the real song later in the studio. It’s usually just a guitar or piano over a click track, sometimes with vocals. A click track,” he headed off her question, “is nothing but a clicking sound to keep tempo and timing, like a metronome.”

“Okay. Sounds fine so far.”

“I’m not sure where I’ll be recording the album. It could be downtown, it could be in the US. I have no idea. But I’ll be scarce again for a while.”

“Well, we survived this time, didn’t we?” she smiled. “I’m thinking that’s something we’re going to have to get used to. Right?”

“Probably,” he hedged, not wanting to discuss the big elephant that was looming just outside the room just yet.

“So what happens after the album is recorded?”

“The record company will start generating buzz. Photographers may start showing up. At some point, probably sometime before the album drops, they’re going to find out about you.”

She sounded a little resigned. “I expected that.”

“Here comes the part where I start offering advice.”

“I’ll take any you have,” she said with a smile and a squeeze to his hand.

“The paparazzi can be rude and intrusive. They will say horrible things to try to get a reaction out of you. They’re going to dig around to find out more about the Doctor’s girlfriend. You can talk to them or not, but my suggestion would be ‘not’ - at least not without someone with you, guiding you.”

“You mean you?”

Ian snorted. “No, all these years and they can still provoke me. More like Bill, my publicist. She’s good, you’ll like her.”

“Okay.”

“When you’re alone - or anytime, really - don’t be rude, but don’t give them anything to work with. Does that make sense?”

Rose nodded and he kissed her hand again. This wasn’t a life she’d wanted, he knew, but she was bravely taking it on. For him. He was humbled.

“What else?” she asked.

“This ties into the other, but we’ll want to protect your privacy. Do you have any social media accounts?”

She nodded. “Sure. Facebook, twitter, instagram. I have a tumblr, but I never use it.”

He relaxed a little at that. “Good. That’s one of the worst.” She gave him a look and he tried to figure out a way to explain. “I didn’t know about my online fandom until a few weeks ago, then I made the mistake of going to look. It was…” He paused for a second to gather his thoughts. “Fans will sometimes photoshop pictures or make art. Some of them draw pictures or write stories. Some of them just comment on what they see. A lot of it is rather flattering. But some of them… they don’t always…” He stumbled a little, then recovered. “Some of them are prone to creating and writing things that you’ll not want to see or read about your bloke.”

Rose’s eyes were wide. “Osgood warned me a bit about that. Is it really that bad?”

He nodded. “Some of them, yeah. I’m not telling you to delete your accounts, just...don’t search for me.”

“Consider that advice heeded,” she told him, her eyes still round. “What about facebook? I’m on that more than anything else these days.”

“Maybe stay out of the fan groups.”

She nodded, a bit wide-eyed. “So I need to lock down my social media, I assume.”

“I would, yeah. You can talk to Osgood or Bill about it more. They’ll know what to do better than I fucking would.”

Rose tilted her head to the side a little. “Bill… is she the one that’s in your mobile as ‘pain in my arse’?”

“No, that’s my manager. She’s a pain in my arse. These fucking women.”

“Oi!” Rose exclaimed with a grin.

“Not you!” he hastened to clarify, cursing himself a little for that slip. “Not you, sweetheart. Never.”

Rose’s eyes were twinkling, and she giggled. He couldn’t help it, he smiled at her. She really was achingly beautiful.

“Is that all I need to know in order to be your girlfriend?”

Ian’s mouth pursed a little in mock reproval. “Cheeky. No, but the only other thing I can think of for now is to bear in mind that a tabloid’s purpose isn’t to report the truth, their purpose is to sell stories. Their specialty is taking a grain of a half-truth - or an outright lie - and spinning an elaborate story out of it that will sell papers. I’ve been caught in their web before, and I’m sure I will again. Eventually you learn to just ignore them, but it takes practice. It’s hard at first, and I feel sure they’ll come after us. I just wanted to warn you.”

She nodded and was quiet for a few moments, looking at their joined hands pensively. Her silence started to worry him after a minute and he squeezed her hand to get her attention. “Sweetheart? What is it?”

The uncertainty in her voice upset him. “We’ll be okay, right? You and me?”

“Yes.” His answer was automatic and out of his mouth almost before she finished speaking. 

“How can you be so certain?”

He dragged his free hand down his face, trying to gather his thoughts. The vehemence with which he had answered surprised him, but he’d felt the need to answer her question with a firm ‘yes’ at once, almost like not doing so would allow the other, unthinkable option to take root and grow. He couldn’t let that happen. 

It occurred to him then that he’d do virtually anything to make damn sure that they’d be okay. It had taken him almost forty-seven years to find Rose Tyler. He’d be damned if he’d let her go without the fight of his life. 

Ian sighed. “I can’t promise that we’ll be okay, sweetheart, as much as I wish I could. No one ever can, in any relationship, and certainly not one like ours. But,” he went on when she made to speak, “what I _can_ promise you is that I will do absolutely anything to _make_ things okay if they’re not. I want this to work between us, Rose, and I’ll do whatever I need to do in order for that to fucking happen.”

“This isn’t going to be a normal relationship, is it?” Before he could answer, she rushed ahead. “Not that I’ve had a lot of experience but… this is going to be different. More different.”

He wanted to lie to her. He wanted to tell her that everything would be smooth sailing and there’d be nothing to worry about. Had she been anyone else, that’s exactly what he would have done. But he couldn’t lie to Rose, and he had a feeling that he’d never be able to. Not really.

“Yeah, sweetheart. It’s going to be tough. There are going to be times we won’t see each other for weeks, there will be times when the paparazzi and tabloids get obnoxious, there will be times when you get tired of it all and just want to walk away. All I ask - the _only_ thing I ask -- is that when you feel like that, you tell me so I can make it better for you. Alright? Can you do that?”

Rose gave him a little smile and nodded. “Yeah. I can do that much.”

He kissed her hand again out of sheer gratitude. “Thank you, sweetheart.” It seemed like she was willing to give this insane life a shot with him, for him, and he was beyond honored. 

“It won’t be that bad,” she predicted. “I’m a bookshop owner. Nobody special. The only special thing about me is who my bloke is.”

Ian was more than a little affronted. “That is absolutely _not_ the only special thing about you!”

Rose just smiled at him like he was daft, then her eyes lit up. “Oh! I forgot to tell you.” She pulled her hand out of his and dug her phone out of her pocket, unlocked it, tapped and swiped the screen a couple of times, then handed it over to him. He looked down at it and saw that her iTunes was open. 

“Scroll to the D’s.”

He did, and there he was, all of his albums on the screen in front of him, in alphabetical order. All of them, right there, beneath his scrolling finger. 

“You downloaded my music?” he asked, a little stunned. 

“Of course. Not many girls can say they downloaded their bloke’s music from iTunes.” Her tongue came to the corner of her mouth. “Special, see?”

He didn’t argue with her. This time. “Have you listened to any of it?” he asked, genuinely curious. 

“Not all of them, not yet. Only have so much time, you know. But I did manage to read your wikipedia page.”

Ian snorted. “Those things are rarely more than half true. I’ve a friend whose wikipedia page said that he was a velociraptor born in Japan for a while.”

Rose shook her head in mock consternation. “Pity for you, then. Whoever wrote it must have been a big fan. It was very complimentary, said lovely things about you.”

“Every fucking word of that was true,” he said with as serious a face as he could muster, and Rose burst into giggles. He couldn’t help it, he laughed, too. It just felt so _good_ to be with her.

“So what happens now?” she asked when the laughter had died down. 

He thought about joking again, saying that now they’d have dinner and he’d drag her back to his flat, but that wasn’t what she meant and he knew it.

“Until I start recording, everything stays the same. I’ll keep coming by the shop a few times a week to pester you, and if I’m lucky, you’ll let me take you out after work and on Sundays.”

Rose flushed to the roots of her hair. “I think you’ll be getting rather lucky,” she said, her face flaming. 

Ian’s eyes widened, but before he could puzzle out an appropriate response, the waiter was back with a tray full of food and he had to let go of Rose’s hand. The cheeky minx looked up at him and winked before she tucked into her roast pork and Ian squirmed in his seat.


	20. Chapter 20

1 June 2016 (cont)

Ian had barely settled into the driver’s seat and started the car when he reached over to take Rose’s hand. “So...where to?” he asked, pulling onto the street.

She flushed a little and her voice was shy when she answered. “I thought we were going back to yours?”

“We can if you want to,” he started, feeling almost hesitant. “I just feel like I’m rushing you.”

“You’re not. I want to go back to your flat and…” She didn’t finish. 

His imagination ran wild for a second and he tried to control it by figuring out what to say, how honest to be. Finally, he decided to go for ‘completely honest’.

“To be frank, sweetheart, after being away from you for so long, I’m just dying to get you in my arms. What do you say we pull up a film and just…”

“Cuddle?” she finished, looking at him with her tongue between her teeth. “Or are you suggesting Netflix and chill?”

It was Ian’s turn to flush. He coughed to clear his throat. “I’m not -”

“That sounds lovely,” she said, saving him from whatever foolishness he was about to stumble through. “What kind of film?”

~*~O~*~

A little while later found Ian more content than he could ever remember being. He was sitting in the corner of his couch, and Rose had snuggled right up next to him and under his arm in the position they’d gotten used to taking at her flat in the evenings before he left for Paris. Her head rested on his shoulder and one of her hands rested on his chest. He covered it with his hand and pressed a kiss to her forehead. 

“Comfy?”

She nuzzled in a bit deeper. “Hmm. Very. You’re cuddlier than you look.”

He chuckled a little and kissed her forehead again. “What do you want to watch?”

“I rarely watch telly unless I’m with you," she admitted. "I spend a lot of time reading so I can have intelligent conversations with the customers.”

“Makes sense.” 

“Why don’t you just put it on whatever you’d be watching if I weren’t here?”

“I probably wouldn’t be watching telly, either. I rarely do, unless I’m with you." 

She sat back from him a little and smirked. “Well aren’t we just a pair?”

“Seems so,” he returned, playing with her hair a little. “Probably should have expected as much from a couple who met in a bookshop.” He felt a thrill like a pulse of electricity at his own use of the word ‘couple’.

Rose tittered. “Fair point. So what do we do?”

He answered by dipping his head forward and catching her lips. She smiled against his kiss for a moment, but it melted away when he reached up to cup her jaw, stroking her soft cheek with his thumb. Her lips parted beneath his and he didn’t waste a second, letting the warmth of her mouth lure him in. His tongue tasted her, and she met him with tentative strokes of her own. The honesty of her motions intoxicated him, left him inflamed. 

One of his arms was around her shoulders, but the other was free to roam and explore. He did so, but with some caution. Although they’d spent time together on her couch before he left for Paris, kissing and exploring, and he’d even stroked her to orgasm more than once during those sessions, he didn’t want to push her - especially considering she’d run away the last time they’d been headed down a sexual path. 

That said, he was harder than fucking iron and absolutely _dying_ for more of her. All she’d be willing to give.

Rose turned so she was facing him, almost going up on her knees. This motion led to her body no longer being pressed against his, and Ian found that unacceptable. Craving her warmth and nearness, he pulled her flush against him with his arm around her back, deepening the kiss further. His right hand slid down her back and over her arse to her thigh while his left threaded itself through her hair to hold her closer for kissing. Her arms draped around his shoulders and he shivered when she started playing with the little hairs at the nape of his neck. 

“You alright there?” she asked in a teasing tone, one corner of her mouth turned up in a smirk. 

Ian nodded, kissed her quickly, then asked, “Are you?” They’d been this far before, farther than this, but he was still skittish of pushing her. 

“I’m so completely alright,” she assured him, and his lips were on hers again at once. The kiss grew more heated, passions straining the leash, until Ian thought he would burst. Rose dragged her hands through his hair, scraping his scalp with her fingernails, and he moaned into her mouth while gooseflesh broke out on his skin. 

“Ian?” she panted, breaking away. 

“Yeah?”

“Touch me.”

He hauled her mouth to his and cupped her breast, massaging it with slightly more force than necessary. She whimpered a little from his touch and he ran his thumb over the nipple he could feel pebbling under the thin material of her blouse. 

Finally, _finally_ , he broke away from her mouth to press kisses to her jaw, licking and nibbling as he made his way to her ear. Her perfume was light but heady, leaving him exhilarated. Her silver hoop earring clacked against his teeth but he didn’t let that deter him from suckling her earlobe, then pressing kisses to the hollow behind her ear, inhaling deeply to get more of her scent. 

All of the sudden he was very aware of her hands. One had worked its way under his blazer and t-shirt and she was pulling at the skin of his back, trying to bring him closer. The other had found the tent at the front of his denims and was gently, timidly massaging his cock.

“Jesus, Rose,” he gasped, laying his forehead down on her shoulder to revel in the feel of her hand on him. 

“Yeah?” she asked, sounding unsure, and he didn’t answer with words, just claimed her mouth in the most controlled way he could manage. Turnabout was fair play, though, so he slid his hand down to the hem of her top, then up the skin of her back until he met her bra strap. With one quick motion and a popping sound, he had it unsnapped and the whole of her back was at his disposal, all that soft skin. 

Rose let go of him and pulled away, panicking him for a split second. Before he could speak, though, she’d whipped the top over her head, tossing it to the side. Her bra followed immediately after. Ian stared at her, completely mesmerized by the dusty-pink nipples that topped her lucious, perfect breasts. She didn’t move, just let him look his fill, her gaze hot. 

His hands came up until he covered them - he wouldn’t have been able to stop them if he’d tried. They were soft in his hands, pliable, and he did his best to treat them with the reverence they deserved. In all their kissing and explorations on her couch, he hadn’t seen her body. It was almost like a religious experience, and she still had half her clothes on. His mouth watered and he longed to taste them. 

“Sweetheart,” he started, unsure of how he was going to finish. “ _Fuck,_ you’re gorgeous.”

“Yeah?”

“God, Rose. I can’t…” His base urges took over and when he opened his mouth again, he was taking her nipple into it, suckling greedily. 

Rose’s hands were back in his hair, holding him to her, and that was fucking _brilliant_. She threw her head back, abandoning herself to his hands and mouth, and he took full advantage, doing his best to make her lose her mind, ringing his tongue around her nipple and grazing it with his teeth while she moaned in pleasure. 

Dimly, at the back of his mind, he was vaguely aware that they were still on the couch, and that he didn’t want them there. He wanted to be able to spread her out and worship her, laying down beside her, taking her all in. Wide and comfy as his couch was, that couldn’t happen here. Very reluctantly, he released her breast and sat up. 

Rose was waiting for him. She attacked his mouth, pushing at his blazer in an attempt to get it off. He did his best to help, shaking his arms free and pushing it away. Her hands immediately went to his t-shirt, tugging and pulling, and he grabbed them to stop her. 

“Rose --”

“Don’t ask me if I’m sure, Ian,” she warned. “I want you - I want to _be with_ you - and I can’t wait another second. Please.”

He couldn’t help a little smile. “I was just going to offer use of my bedroom, if you’d like to continue.”

She blinked, taken a little off guard. “Oh. Yes, of course.”

Exercising more strength of will than he knew he possessed, Ian got to his feet, pulling her with him. He swore to himself he wouldn’t attack her again until they were safely in his room, then immediately broke his own word by bending down and kissing her, hard. His hands clutched at her, roaming everywhere, pinching her nipples a little then sliding down her sides, over her waist, covering her bum. Rose’s leg wrapped around his and gave him a flash of inspiration. His hands cupped her arse, massaging it for a moment, before they trailed lower to the backs of her thighs. 

“Hop up,” he instructed, and she gave him an unsure look before she complied. At once, he found himself wrapped up in the comfort of Rose Tyler’s arms, cradled between her legs, and he never wanted to be anywhere else, ever again. 

His heart rate spiked when Rose set to work kissing his neck, biting the tendon there, and he gripped her tighter. His sense of urgency was growing, and he carried her into the bedroom as quickly as he could, stopping only when his shins hit the side of his bed. His mouth sought hers out then and he kissed her, doing his best to imbue the kiss with everything he felt for her. 

She squirmed a little in his arms and he let her down softly onto the black velvet duvet, sure to keep his mouth joined to hers. She started pulling at his shirt again and this time, he didn’t resist, he just let her pull it off and toss it away. He had a burst of anxiety about her seeing him nearly naked, but as soon as the shirt was gone she was on her knees, spreading her hands over him and placing worshipful kisses on his chest. 

“What's this?” she asked, rubbing a small circle over the inked area. 

“Tattoo,” he choked out.

“Want to tell me about it?”

“Not right now.”

“Alright.”

Ian gasped when she ringed his nipple with her tongue, and she smiled against his chest. 

“Oh you think that’s funny, do you?” he asked, his quirked lip betraying the tone he used. 

She nodded, still kissing and touching, circling his nipple again and enjoying his reaction. “Pretty funny, yeah.”

He gripped and massaged her shoulders, making helpless, encouraging sounds. His head rolled back a bit, reveling in the way her mouth felt on him. After a moment, he felt her hands at his belt and raised his head to look at her. She met his mouth with hers, not stopping what she was doing, then smirked against his lips. 

“I’ve waited a long time for this,” she said as she got the belt and then the button loose. As soon as she was able, her hand went down the front of his pants and she had her warm, soft fingers wrapped around his cock. He let out a strangled noise, gripping her tighter, and she bit her lip. 

“Do you like that?” she asked as she pumped him, sending sparks of pure sensual energy rioting across his nerves. 

He nodded dumbly, unable to articulate any of his thoughts with his brain fizzing as it was. 

“You know what else I want to do?”

“Tell me.”

She leaned forward and put her mouth very near his ear. “I want to feel you inside me,” she whispered. 

He closed his eyes and bit his lip, striving for control that seemed just out of his reach. Rose just started pressing kisses to his neck. He leaned his head to the side to give her room, clutching her hips, and sucking in a breath when she nipped him. 

“Please fuck me?”

His mind raced and spun, but he finally landed on a suitable response. “I’m reasonably certain that what I’m about to do to you isn’t going to be mere fucking. It’s going to be much more than just fucking.”

She blinked up at him owlishly and it was his turn to smirk. He pressed her forward gently until she was sprawled on her back on his bed and he was hovering over her. Her hair fanned out around her head like spun gold and he resolved to bury his face in it after, to let her surround him, to drown himself in her. She was his fantasy come to life, a wish come true, and he… he _cherished_ her.

“Rose Tyler, I’m about to make love to you.”

Her smile was like the sun coming up and she looped her arms around his neck. “Is that so?”

“Very much so.”

She flicked her eyes down to his trousers. “Seems you’re a bit overdressed.”

He raised up long enough to shove down his denims and pants, letting his cock bob free. Rose eyed it with something like hunger and he was gratified - and relieved. He’d never had any complaints before, but one could never be sure. In a tearing hurry, he pulled off his boots and socks before he climbed back onto the bed to hover over her again. Rose was tugging at the button of her denims, but Ian stopped her hands. 

“I think I’ll take care of that,” he fairly growled. 

Rose just smiled up at him while he tugged at her bottoms, lifting her hips accommodatingly. He pressed kisses down her abdomen while he pulled them down and off, and finally - _finally_ \- she lay naked before him. He was stunned into stillness. She was gorgeous, absolutely jaw-droppingly beautiful. Her skin was alabaster, and her body curved in the most seductive way. His hands trailed all over her, helpless in the face of her velvety softness. His sweetheart was perfection in human form, and she was lying across his bed, waiting for him to make love to her. 

He was awed. 

Her lips curled seductively and she beckoned him. “C’mere, handsome. Want you to kiss me.”

Whatever she wanted, she could have. Anything. Everything. It was all hers, and a kiss was an honor. 

He fell on her, barely cognizant to keep his weight off of her so she could breathe, eager for every inch of his skin to be pressed against hers. The head of his cock grazed her thigh and he closed his eyes against the sensation of her smooth skin rubbing him. As amazing as that felt, he knew being inside her was going to be mind-blowing, and he could hardly wait. 

She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him to her while he kissed her, and Ian was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. After wanting her for months, believing it would never happen, after being so close to heaven then thinking he’d lost her, he was beside himself to have her, to be wrapped in her arms. Her hands stroked the bare skin of his back, driving him wild, and she returned his kiss, their tongues teasing and caressing, mimicking the act their bodies would be performing very soon. 

Ian broke the kiss when he remembered that she likely needed to breathe and started trailing his mouth along her jaw, down her neck, over her collarbones and onto her chest, while his hand slid down to the apex of her thighs.

“Christ, you’re wet,” he observed, sliding his finger up and down in her slit, massaging her clit for a moment.

“It’s because of you. All you,” she vowed, rolling her hips a little to get him closer. He circled her entrance, then slid one long finger inside her. She made a little noise of approval, encouraging him. His mouth caught her nipple again, suckling it, teasing it with his teeth and tongue, pulling it until it was hard between his lips, and he slid a second finger into her. Rose held his head in place, her nails scratching along his scalp, and he made a low, growling sound, pulling off her breast to look up at her. 

“Do we need…?”

“I need you,” she whined. 

“You’ll have me sweetheart. Soon. But do we need a condom?”

Rose shook her head. “I’ve got an IUD. It’s effective for another two years. And I haven’t been with anyone in seven years, so I’m clean.”

Ian wished he could say it had been that long since he’d been with anyone, and stumbled over what to say in response. “It's been a while for me, but I go to the doctor every January. I’m clean, too.”

She ground herself against his hand, impaling herself on his fingers. She was so warm and wet around his digits… His brain faltered.

“So we don’t need a condom,” she concluded, still grinding against his pumping hand.

“I’ll get it if you --”

“I trust you. Just please, _please_...”

It was the most innocent, trusting offer Ian had ever received and he was humbled. But his endurance was faltering. “You drive me fucking mad, you know that?”

“Only fair,” she answered, more than a little breathless. His eyes rolled back a little when she dragged her nails along his scalp again. “You’ve been making me mental for months.”

“Let me continue to do so.”

He lowered his head, this time to her other breast, and Rose arched her back when he circled her nipple with his tongue, as promised. He pumped his fingers in and out of her, then slid a third finger in beside them, stretching her, preparing her, fucking her with his hand. Before long, she was rolling her hips under him, begging for him. 

“Ian,” she gasped. 

Her nipple was between his teeth when he answered. “Yeah?”

“Make love to me,” she commanded softly. “Please, Ian. Please. I want you. _Now._ ”

Ian didn’t say anything, just removed his hand and took his place between her spread legs. He rolled his hips forward, pressing against her wetness, sliding between her lips with the tip of his cock. She grabbed the back of his head and he kissed her back urgently. Her hand circled his cock and pumped it, rubbing the head along her clit, and he moaned.

“Sweetheart…” 

He let her go for a few more strokes, thrusting gently in her hand, before he pulled it away. “I need you, sweetheart.” He stopped her lips with a kiss, then said, “Please.”

Rose nodded, breathless, and he kissed her again.

“Are you ready?” he panted, at the very end of his control. 

“Yeah.”

He lined his cock up with her entrance then pressed forward, into her wet heat, absolutely overwhelmed by how good she felt around him, so hot and slick and tight and _Rose_. She clutched his shoulders, her neck arching backwards, moaning his name. Ian himself groaned as he went deeper, his forehead back on her shoulder, until finally he couldn’t go any farther. They both held still then, breathing heavily, adjusting to one another. 

He had the presence of mind to ask if she was alright but his voice trembled, as did his entire body, with the effort of fighting the instinct to fuck her hard and fast until he exploded. 

Rose nodded. “Yeah. I’m alright.”

His head raised and he looked at her, concern in his eyes. “Really, sweetheart.”

“Yeah. I’m just… it takes a minute, yeah?”

Ian kissed the tip of her nose. “I’ll go slow. Be gentle.” And he would, he vowed to himself he would. She was so fucking precious to him. He’d do anything to make her feel good. 

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he pulled out until only the head remained inside her, his eyes never leaving hers. She gave a minute nod, and he pushed back in until he was pressed against the barrier inside her. She clutched at his back, biting her lip, their eyes still locked, and he did it again. Then again, and again, picking up a minute amount of speed with each thrust. 

“Oh, Ian,” she purred, finally closing her eyes, and he sighed, releasing his grip on himself, allowing himself to speed up a bit more. 

“Feels so good, Ian. I’m so full…”

“Yeah,” he agreed, mindless of anything but the places he touched her, inside and outside. 

“Ian?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Fuck me,” she begged, her voice husky.

He was helpless to do anything other than what she commanded. Rose threw her head back in pleasure, baring her neck. He took the invitation, attacking the creamy skin of her throat while he thrust in and out again and again. 

Rose looped one leg around his waist, changing the angle slightly, and he sped up. It felt so good, so _fucking_ good, she was so _tight_ and _hot_...

“Oh, yes. Fucking _yes._ ”

“Ian,” she whimpered, dragging her nails across his back. 

“Rose,” he groaned, then raised his head to kiss her, hard. “My Rose. My sweetheart.”

She brought the other leg up around his waist, locking her ankles, letting his strokes go even deeper. Ian made a strangled sound and started pounding into her, breaking her keening moan of pleasure into grunts with every impact. 

“Ian,” she whined. “Ian, please. I’m gonna come, you’re gonna make me come. Please…”

“I’m close, sweetheart, fucking… _Fuck_....so good, so goddamn good…”

He shifted his hips and she detonated, crying his name and the name of God at the top of her lungs, clinging desperately to his back as he rocked her with his fucking. He did his absolute best to maintain her orgasm, relishing the squeeze of her thighs and the sharp pain of her nails in his back. She called his name again, her voice strangled, and he wanted to answer her but he couldn’t, he was chasing his own release. 

She clenched around him and that was it, that was all he needed. One, two, then a final thrust and he erupted, his cock buried as deep as it could go. Rose sobbed her pleasure while he shouted, his vision whiting out and body collapsing in bliss. 

Some time later, he was never sure how long, Rose stirred and he came back to himself. She was panting beneath him, still clinging to his shoulders, her ankles still locked around his waist. The tingling of his orgasm hadn’t subsided yet and her squirming triggered an aftershock. He shuddered and she sighed. 

“Oh, wow.”

With a smile, he raised his head to look at her. She was smiling up at him, her face relaxed, her eyes almost sleepy, and if he’d thought she was beautiful before, that was nothing compared to the way she looked right then. 

He showered her with kisses all over her face, making her giggle. Between each kiss he murmured her name, called her sweetheart, and told her how beautiful she was. When he finished, she smiled up at him serenely. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked when he got his breath.

“Mmm. I’m better than I’ve ever been, handsome. That was _amazing_.”

“It was,” he agreed, then kissed her lips gently. “ _You’re_ amazing.”

She giggled, a little giddy, and he echoed the sentiment. With great regret, he started to withdraw from her, but she tightened her arms and legs around him. 

“Don’t go.”

“I’m crushing you, sweetheart.”

Rose raised her head to kiss him softly. “I want you close.”

“How about this,” he suggested, then pulled his softening cock out and laid beside her, drawing her into his arms. She sighed contentedly and he did the same. Her head came to rest on his shoulder and he pulled the duvet over them, the red satin lining cool against their bodies. 

“Comfy?”

“Yeah,” she said on a long exhale. 

Ian kissed her forehead. “Good.”

They laid there together for a long time, Ian drawing lazy little circles on her shoulder, Rose playing with the sparse hair on his chest. Everything in his world was at peace while he held this woman, and it was like nothing he’d ever known. 

If this was what being in love felt like, he wanted it forever. The word didn’t even scare him. He suspected the only thing that could ever scare him about Rose would be if she ran away again.


	21. Chapter 21

2 June 2016

Rose swam up from the deep recesses of sleep, warm, comfortable, and safe. She’d been wrapped up in the most pleasant dream she’d ever had, where she was sleeping beside Ian. He had held her as they slept and she couldn’t help but smile, feeling safe and content in his arms. She sighed, blissful, luxuriating in the remnants of the dream. 

Then she felt a scratchy kiss on her shoulder and her eyes flew open as she jumped. She sat up with a gasp, her brain spinning to make sense of where she was. The room was only a little familiar, the black duvet with red lining sparking a memory. She was surrounded by a scent that made her feel safe and comfortable, and she looked down to realize she was wearing a t-shirt she vaguely recognized. Still disoriented, she blinked down at it dumbly. 

A soft shh-ing came from behind her. The bed she was on moved, and a pair of gentle hands landed on her upper arms. 

“Easy there, Rose,” a very real Ian soothed her, pressing another kiss to her hair. “It’s just me.” He was rubbing her shoulders and arms, dropping reassuring little kisses on her shoulder. “You’re safe, sweetheart.” 

The night before came flooding back to Rose and she turned her body to wrap her arms around him, happier than she could remember being in… well, a long time. He just held her, his strong arms around her, hands caressing her back. 

“Good morning,” she murmured. 

“Mmm… morning,” he responded. “Barely.”

“What do you mean?” She leaned back, affording herself a look at him. He looked sleep-tousled, his eyes still bleary. His chest was bare and the duvet pooled around his waist, where Rose now remembered him slipping on jimjam bottoms before they succumbed to sleep last night. Pillow wrinkles lined his face and his hair was sticking up a little at the side where he’d slept on it. Rose bit back a grin. It was terribly endearing. 

“It’s only ten after five,” he pointed out. 

Rose looked at the clock beside the bed and sure enough, it read 5:11. She flushed, embarrassed. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said, pressing a light kiss to her forehead. “You can’t help when you wake up.” He yawned, then shook his head and blinked, looking more awake. “Did you sleep well?”

“I slept like a rock,” she assured him. “Did _you_ get any sleep?”

He grinned and leaned in to nuzzle her neck. “Best sleep I’ve ever had, with you here.”

His scruff on her neck tickled, and she giggled at the sensation, her shoulders drawing up. Ian grinned against her neck, she could feel it, and he started creeping towards her jaw, then towards her mouth. Her mouth that she immediately clamped shut when he got close. 

Ian pulled back, looking confused. “What’s wrong?”

“Morning breath,” she mumbled through lips pressed together.

He stared at her for a second, then threw his head back and laughed. “Go. There’s a spare toothbrush under the sink, I think.”

Rose felt her face color. “I… um… I packed one. It’s in my purse. Should… should I come back here?” she asked, hoping he’d catch her meaning. 

“I’ll be here if you want me to be.” His lowered voice and smoldering look indicated that he absolutely did. 

The smile she gave him was brilliant. “Good. I won’t be long.” She leaned forward to kiss his scratchy cheek, then she scurried to fetch her purse and dash to the loo, feeling his eyes on her all the way out the door. 

Once she’d taken care of the pressing matter of her bladder, she dug in her purse to find the toothbrush she’d brought… and a comb. Her teeth were brushed quickly, using Ian’s expensive toothpaste, and when she was done, she started trying to tame the mess on top of her head. After she’d pulled all the tangles out and her hair falling around her shoulders looked less of a fright, she gave herself a critical once-over. In her personal opinion, an old t-shirt wasn’t exactly sexy, but Ian didn’t seem to mind. Besides, all her clothes were strewn about on the floor of his bedroom, where they’d been dropped the night before.

T-shirt it was, then. 

She left the loo and walked the couple of steps across the corridor to Ian’s bedroom, but stopped in the doorway when she spotted the empty bed across the large room. For a moment, she wondered if she’d come to the wrong room, but she was sure this was where she’d slept. The dark velvet duvet was rumpled, revealing the red lining and crisp white sheets, and both pillows had head-dents in them. This was the right room, then. But where was -- 

Hands slid around her waist, and she felt Ian’s tall body press against her back at the same time she felt his lips press at the junction of her neck and shoulder. Rose laid her head back against him and covered his arms with hers, smiling. 

“I thought you’d left,” she accused. 

“Leave you? Fucking never.” She giggled, and Ian nibbled a little. “I love your neck,” he mumbled against her skin. “Smells so good. Smells like you.”

Rose closed her eyes against the sensation and his words. “It does?”

“Mmhm.” He switched sides of her neck then and spread the fingers of one hand under Rose’s so they could lace together. “You know, Rose… seeing you in my clothes does something to me,” he rumbled, and Rose felt his free hand come up to cup her breast. She bit her lip when his thumb brushed her nipple, feeling it harden. 

“Does it?” she squeaked a little.

To answer her, Ian lowered his body and ground his erection against her bum. A little gasp escaped her and he chuckled darkly. “Yeah,” he told her. “It does.” His hand kneaded her breast with a little more pressure and he continued to roll his hips against her, but his free hand slipped down to her knickers and he dipped his fingers inside.

Rose sucked in a breath, biting her lip to hold back a moan. Ian released her breast and slid his hand lower, to slip under her shirt and glide up the smooth skin of her belly. Any other day, his light touch may have tickled, but right now, she was too turned on to laugh. Below, his fingers parted her lips and slid inside at the precise moment he covered her breast again and bit gently on her neck. 

“I’m so glad you woke us up early,” he murmured against the skin after he soothed it with his tongue, his warm breath making her shiver. 

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” he rumbled, sliding his fingers up and down her slit, driving her spare. “I was gone for two weeks. We have a lot of time to make up.”

Rose let out an exquisite sigh when he eased his long fingers inside her and simultaneously pinched her nipple lightly. 

“Yeah,” she breathed, rolling her head back against his shoulder. His fingers slid in and out of her, caressing her walls, while his thumb went to work on her clit. Any other time, she might have been embarrassed by the wet sounds his hand was making as he worked her, but she was entirely too mindless to care. It occurred to her that he was playing her like one of his guitars, stroking her with confidence and precision, and she groaned, wondering if she’d ever be able to watch him play without becoming desperately aroused. 

“Please, Ian.”

“Please what?”

“Take me back to bed.”

She felt him smile against her shoulder. “You want to go back to bed?”

“Please.”

“Your wish is, as always, my command.”

He brought his hands to her hips and she followed his guidance to the bed, turning around to face him when they got there, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He caught her lips and within moments, his tongue was caressing hers, wooing her, making her lose her mind. 

Rose wasn’t sure how long they’d been kissing like that, but he eventually nudged her backwards onto the bed. It was a bit tricky, moving without breaking the kiss, but they managed it. She followed his lead, easing herself back until she was lying with her head on a pillow while he hovered over top of her. She broke the kiss long enough to whip off her shirt, leaving herself only in her damp knickers. Ian kicked off his pyjama bottoms, and Rose’s mouth watered a little bit at the sight of his thick cock. She hadn’t tasted him yet and very much wanted to. But for now… she pulled him down so the bare skin of his chest was against the bare skin of hers. Both of them groaned at the contact and she clutched his back, wanting him closer. Her legs spread under his weight, welcoming him, and he took his place between them, his hard cock rubbing against her heated core. She whimpered into his mouth and he pulled back, smirking. 

“You alright there?” he asked, pressing kisses against her neck, trailing downwards. 

“Want you,” she managed, too aroused to form a complete sentence. 

Ian nipped at her collarbone lightly. “I want you, too. Want to taste you.”

Rose’s eyes closed in bliss when he closed his mouth on her nipple. She rolled her hips against where he was hard, clutching his shoulders. He laved at her breast, suckling her areola then pulling back to blow cool air on it. When it tightened into a point, he smiled at it. 

“Can I?” he asked, confusing Rose. 

“Can you what?”

He focused his attention on her other breast, suckling and nibbling. When she was nearly mindless, ready to beg him to keep going, he pulled away with the same cool jet of air to her puckered nipple. 

“Can I taste you?”

Rose wasn’t entirely sure she knew what he was asking, mindless as she was, but it scarcely mattered. She would have agreed to anything, given him whatever he wanted in that moment. “Please,” she begged, unsure what she was asking for. She just wanted _more_.

He started trailing wet, worshipful, open-mouth kisses down her belly between murmurs of praise that she couldn’t hear while he tugged her knickers down her legs. She did her best not to squirm, sure now what his intentions were and not sure what to do, more than a little nervous. 

“You don’t have to…” she started, then broke off, uncertain how to express what she was thinking. 

Ian raised his head to look at her intently. “You don’t want me to?”

“I do,” she hurried to assure him. “I do, I just…” She bit her lip, trying to figure out how to say what she needed to. Jimmy had never done this for her, thinking it beneath him, and Mickey had only ever done it half-heartedly a couple of times. She’d enjoyed it, she supposed, but he’d gotten bored with it before she even got close to orgasm, and she wasn’t entirely sure she was capable of coming that way. If she knew Ian, however, she knew he’d die trying to bring her pleasure. 

“I’m not sure I can come that way,” she said in a rush, anxious to get the words out and flushing. “I’ve never…”

“You’ve never done this?” he questioned, his head tilted to the side. 

“I have. I just… I couldn’t come and I don’t want you to waste time trying --”

“Let me stop you right fucking there,” he said, his eyes flashing. “Doing this for you, making you feel good, it could never be a waste of time. I _want_ to do this. Do you want me to?”

“Yeah, I just --”

“Then let me. If you want me to stop at any point, just say so. Otherwise, let me worry about everything. You just lie there and _feel_ , sweetheart. Alright?”

“Alright,” she fairly whispered. The corner of Ian’s mouth quirked up and he winked at her, then lowered his head to taste her. 

The first touch of his tongue against her core nearly had her rocketing off the bed. It was a completely different sensation than what she’d been experiencing: more immediate, more vulnerable. It was warmer, softer, wetter, and infinitely more intimate. He smirked up at her for a second before he licked her again, one long stripe from her entrance to her clit. 

“Oh… oh my,” she breathed. 

Ian chuckled darkly then did it again. Rose’s back arched, pressing herself into his face, and he wound one arm around her leg to anchor her. Once she was settled to his satisfaction, he covered her with his mouth and Rose cried out, helpless under the onslaught of sensation, overwhelmed by the intimacy of this act. His tongue swirled around her clit, licking and teasing, driving her wild, and her hand flew down to fist in his hair. He apparently liked that, because he moaned and upped the intensity of his tongue’s movements. 

“Don’t stop,” she gasped, nearly thrashing. The hand that wasn’t clutching his head plucked and pinched her own nipple, escalating the euphoric high he was giving her. Her hips rolled in mindless little thrusts, seeking him, and she felt herself climbing higher. 

He slid one finger into her, pumping it in time to his stroking of her clit, and Rose called his name brokenly. “Ian… Ian, _please_...”

“That’s right, sweetheart. Let me hear you. Tell me how it feels.”

She couldn’t articulate how he was making her feel, she was only aware of pressure building as she climbed higher and higher towards ecstasy. 

Ian added a second finger, curling them inside her, and she cried out. He hummed and she knew, instinctively, what he wanted. To please him, she released her lip from between her teeth and started babbling. 

“Ian… _fuck_ you’re so good at that… Please, please don’t stop… I’m close…”

He started fucking her with his fingers, pumping vigorously, his tongue flying. With every movement, she felt herself ratcheting higher and higher until with one final pump of his fingers and a gentle suck to her clit, she flew apart. 

It felt as if a match had been lit to every nerve in her body and she screamed, clawing at his scalp and clutching the duvet beside her for dear life. She wasn’t aware of anything, really, except the sensation of falling apart and the sure and certain knowledge that Ian would be there to catch her, to put her back together. 

At length, he stopped his hand and mouth on her and let Rose drift back to earth. She felt tingly, limp, and utterly sated. Her naked body shuddered with an aftershock every time he pressed his lips to her skin as he crawled up her, and she was able to answer his smirk with a tired smile of her own. 

“Mmm. Hello, handsome.”

“Is that all you can say?” he grinned. 

“I think so. I think you may have shorted out the part of my brain that does higher thinking.”

He chuckled and placed a couple of kisses on her chest. “Good. Better get used to that feeling, too.”

She raised an eyebrow and wrapped her arms around his shoulders limply. “Is that so?”

“Oh, yes, Rose Tyler,” he promised, still laying kisses along her bare skin, making his way to her mouth. “I intend to do that every chance I get. Over and over again until you’re absolutely spoiled for me.”

Rose rather thought she was already absolutely spoiled for him, but didn’t get a chance to say so. She squirmed a bit at the exact moment he gently thrust forward, the result being his cock gliding along her slit and gently nudging her clit. She gasped and bit her lip at the sensation - his eyes darkened. 

“Is that the only way you plan on blowing my mind?” she asked, her pulse skyrocketing. 

Ian covered her mouth with his, kissing her deeply. Rose met every stroke of his tongue with one of her own, relishing her taste in his mouth, looping one of her legs around his thigh, opening herself further to him. 

“Let me show you,” he murmured, then slipped deliciously into her.

~*~O~*~

Ian Docherty was a happy man. 

He whistled as he turned the sausages in the frying pan, his mind and heart full of Rose. After they’d made love this morning, she’d started making reluctant overtures to leave, saying she needed to get ready for work before the shop opened at ten. As much as he hated the idea of her leaving, he accepted that eventually, she had to go to work. What he _didn’t_ accept was the idea of her leaving before she absolutely _had_ to. So he’d set about convincing her to stay, offering to cook breakfast, employing kisses along her bare shoulder and caresses to whatever part of her he could reach. 

She hadn’t wanted to leave anymore than he’d wanted her to, and her heart clearly wasn’t in her protestations that she had to go. It hadn’t taken much to sell her on the idea of staying and having breakfast with him, and he’d been thrilled for more time with her. He’d also been delighted to learn that she’d brought a spare pair of knickers with her in her purse, so she was able to shower at his place. That let her stay at his for at least another hour, and he’d followed her into the bathroom to celebrate their reprieve in the shower. She’d laughingly booted him out, reminding him with tongue between teeth that he’d promised her a full English. He’d grumbled only a little before he tugged on his discarded pyjama bottoms, kissed her, then left her alone to bathe. 

As he cooked, he relived the events of the last twelve hours. It felt like he’d stumbled into paradise somehow, but he wasn’t questioning the fortunes that let him hold Rose in his arms all night. And the sex… holy hell, the _sex_. Nothing had _ever_ been that way for him before, not ever. Making love to Rose Tyler had been far and away the most beautiful, satisfying experience of his life. Touching her, tasting her - it had been an almost holy thing, and everything that had come before felt tawdry now. Cheap. He’d let himself go in ways he never had before, too. His lovemaking with Rose had had an honesty, a purity to it that he hadn’t expected. In Rose, he had found the real thing - something he hadn’t even known he was looking for. 

Unbidden, a couple of lines sprung to mind and he abandoned the food in the pan long enough to grab a pen and write them down before he forgot them. 

_I tasted heaven in the temple of your arms_   
_You found me, you saved me, you keep me warm_   
_I’ll do anything if you’ll only keep me safe_   
_If this is a dream, baby, don’t ever let me wake_

“Something smells good,” he heard from behind him, and he turned to find Rose standing at the entrance to his kitchen. She was wearing her clothes from last night, but her feet were bare and her wet hair had lines in it from the comb she’d used. Her face was completely bare, devoid of all makeup, and he’d never seen her like that before. 

She was, unequivocally, the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen in his life.

Apparently, he gaped at her for too long because her look turned mischievous. “Cat got your tongue?”

“No,” he managed. “I’m fine. It’s just… you’re so fucking beautiful, sweetheart.”

She grinned at him, pulling her lip between her teeth, and sauntered over. Once she reached him, she slid her arms around his waist. Ian shivered a little from the feel of her hands on his bare skin. 

“I happen to think you’re the beautiful one, handsome.”

Ian scoffed and dipped his head to kiss her quickly. “You’re daft, but thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You’re also letting the bangers burn.”

“Shit!” He wheeled out of her arms and turned back to the cooker, enjoying the sound of her giggle. The sausages were fine, much to his relief.

“Coffee?” he offered, plating the food.

“Sure,” she smiled. “Want me to make it?”

“No, you just sit and let me take care of you.”

She gave a sigh. “Ian…”

“Hush. I want to.”

“I thought you said you wanted me to make myself at home here?”

“I did. I do.”

She gave him a cheeky grin. “I make my own coffee at home.”

Ian just gave her a look. “You get the cream out of the fridge. That can be your contribution.”

Rose just giggled and went to the fridge, running her hand along the small of his back as she passed him. His cock took notice and he willed it to behave. 

Yes, he was a happy, happy man.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive me for not posting Saturday...due to Hurricane Michael, we were without power. We are all safe, just had to rough it for a while. :) It came back yesterday after three days.

3 June 2016

Ian had loved to play guitar from the time he was five and picked up his uncle’s beat up acoustic, making up a simple song in the five minutes before he was caught. It was his instrument of choice for nearly every situation, and what he was best known for. What most people didn’t know, however, was that he was equally proficient on several other instruments, including the piano, and there were occasions where he preferred to play something else. 

For instance, he sometimes found it easier to write songs on the piano than on a guitar, especially the electric. Frequently, he’d have an idea and noodle around with it for a while on the guitar, then go to the piano to flesh it out and write the lyrics. He was even more likely to do that if the song looked as if it may be a softer one. It was easier for Ian to capture softness on the piano than it was on Tardis - especially initially. 

That’s where he found himself now, hours after Rose had gone to work, sitting at the piano, eyes closed, letting the chorus of an as-yet-unwritten song wash over him while his mind wandered where it wanted to go. Not at all surprisingly, it went straight to his sweetheart. 

Music had been virtually pouring out of him for the last four weeks, since he’d kissed Rose and tasted heaven for the first time. There were twelve scratch tracks ready to be sent off now. Ian never recorded without twenty, though, so he’d be able to keep what worked and bin what didn’t. With any luck, at this pace, he’d have the rest of the tracks finished in less than six weeks. Then he’d be ready and able to send the scratch tracks to the record company and have them book some studio time. Clara, who had been pestering the living shit out of him, would be thrilled. 

Ian had the strongest, most sinking suspicion that the record company would want him to record in the States. Most of his albums had been produced in Los Angeles, where the engineers and producers were more easily able to get a polished sound. That had always been a plus, but due to his meticulous perfectionism (which he had relaxed on _Nightmare in Silver_ , much to his regret), recording one of his albums usually took upwards of a month - possibly longer. He wasn’t sure he could stand to be on a different continent from Rose for that long without seeing her. He’d go mad. 

Oh, who was he kidding? He was already mad. Mad as a fucking hatter, and all for her. Of the twelve songs he had on scratch, eight were directly, blatantly about her, and the other four were heavily influenced by her. At this point, he was seriously considering taking a leaf out of Maroon 5’s book and just naming the album ‘Songs About Rose’.

What he was playing now was still embryonic, more idea than song, but even now he knew it was destined to be about Rose as well. The melody was delicate and intricate, but lovely, and he thought she might like it. 

Ian was in love with her. He’d realized it a good while ago, before he was ready to name it, when he was simply unable to get her out of his head. Fergus pointing it out hadn’t hurt, either. She was on his mind when he played, when he wrote, when he ate, slept, or bathed. In all his life, he’d never fixated on a woman like this. No woman had ever made him feel this way before, either. He was deeply, powerfully attracted to her, but the attraction wasn’t entirely sexual. Yes, he wanted to sleep with her, but he also wanted to _sleep_ with her, wanted to curl up behind her and rest while the hours of the night slid by.

He wanted to be touching her all the time - and not copping a feel, either. Not always. The slide of her palm against his was enough to set his mind, his very soul, at ease. He craved affection from her, not just sex. He wanted to make her happy, to see her smile. He wanted to be the _reason_ she was happy. He wanted to be _why_ she smiled. 

And that was what set her apart from every other woman he’d ever known or thought he’d loved. Something about Rose had shifted his priorities. His focus wasn’t on what she could do or be for him, it was on what he could do or be for her. 

Now the question was, how did she feel about him? Did she love him? _Could_ she ever love him? There was reason to have hope in that regard. He dared to think that she looked at him the same way he looked at her: with utter adoration, like she took joy in his existence. Her touch was tentative and bold in turn, but always gentle. Her kisses were sweet, yet there was a passion there that was barely restrained. Their lovemaking was explosive but those moments after, the moments they spent tangled in each other’s arms, quietly coming down from the euphoric high they’d given each other… those times were so achingly tender that he’d felt tears springing up. Her eyes had been suspiciously wet, too.

So yes, there was hope that she may love him, but he wasn’t ready to bare all just yet. He wanted to be a bit more sure about her feelings before he let her know. Besides that, he was a performer. He couldn’t just blurt something out like that. Something this momentous needed a little thought. It needed something special. Something…

Inspiration struck then, and Ian grinned. He played the song through a couple more times, wrote down the lyrics that had sprung to mind, then got up and walked down the hall, whistling, to go see his Rose for lunch.

~*~O~*~

Rose sat down on the stool behind the counter a little gingerly, owing to the slight soreness between her legs, and flushed with the memory of how that soreness came to be. The last few nights had been an absolute dream come true. Ian had been tender and considerate, but Rose was always delighted when she made him lose his tightly-held control. He touched her and held her with more gentleness than she had ever been used to in her two past relationships. It all felt different with him. _She_ felt different. Warm. Cherished. Precious.

But now wasn’t the time to be dwelling on that, and she shook her head. Her last rental applicant was due in any minute, and Rose needed to look over the application one more time. Everything looked good on paper, and she had hit it off with the young woman, Amy, during the phone interviews. The only dim spot was that Amy was a model, which wasn’t exactly steady work. Rose needed this income to help keep herself afloat, but she hadn’t liked any of the other applicants as much as she’d liked Amy. Maybe meeting with the girl would help reassure her. She’d interviewed other potential tenants and while she thought they’d be fine, there was something about Amy that just clicked, and she wanted to rent to the model. 

Donna approached the counter, tying her apron slowly, having just clocked in. “Afternoon, boss.”

“Good afternoon, Donna. How was your night?”

“Fine, I suppose. Same as always. But nevermind me, how as _your_ night?”

Rose flushed and squirmed, calling to attention the slight discomfort between her legs. “It was fine.”

Donna raised a ginger eyebrow. “Just fine?”

She didn’t meet her employee’s eyes, and her flush deepened. “More than fine. Brilliant, actually.”

“I’ll never know what you see in that man,” the ginger woman sighed. 

Rose just shrugged. “Don’t need you to see it. I see it just fine for both of us.”

“As long as he treats you well, I suppose that’s all that matters.”

“He treats me like an angel,” she started to gush, then cut herself off. Gushing wasn’t very professional. 

The other woman just smirked. Apparently deciding to have mercy on Rose, she changed the subject. “Got an interview today?”

“Yes,” Rose confirmed, looking at the clock on the wall. It was almost one. “She should be here any minute now.”

“How many other interviews do you have?”

“I’ve already done them. This is the fourth applicant.”

Just then, the bells over the door rang. Rose and Donna looked up to see a statuesque redhead with long hair pulling off her sunglasses and looking around the store. She was very well-dressed in stylish clothes, making Rose a little self-conscious in her fitted t-shirt, apron, and skinny jeans. But her face was open and kind, with a naturally pleasant expression. Then the woman turned to look over at the counter and smiled. Rose couldn’t help but smile back. 

“Hi!” the woman said, starting over to the counter with her hand extended towards Donna, who was closer. “My name is Amy Pond, and I’m here to meet with Rose. Is that you?”

“I’m Rose,” she spoke up, getting to her feet and offering her hand. “It’s good to finally put a face to the name. This is Donna Noble.”

Amy shook Donna’s hand with a smile, then turned back to Rose expectantly. Rose wasn’t quite sure what she wanted until she remembered that she was supposed to be conducting an interview. 

“Right! Shall I show you the flat?”

“That would be great! Donna, it was nice to meet you. I hope to be seeing more of you soon.”

Donna nodded politely and the two women started towards the stairs.

~*~O~*~

Forty-five minutes later, Rose was sitting with Amy at the table at Torchwood she usually shared with Ian. The two women laughed while they talked, and she felt like she was catching up with a long-lost friend, not interviewing a potential tenant.

“I can’t get over how nice the flat is. The advert doesn’t do it justice!” Amy enthused. 

“It was my father’s,” Rose explained. “He passed away in January. It’s taken me this long to get everything sorted out to rent it.”

“I’m so sorry.” 

“I’m okay,” she gave a little smile. “I miss him, but I’ve still got Mum.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“How about you?” Rose asked, hoping to change the subject. “Do you have a family?”

“My parents died when I was younger, so it’s mostly just me on my own. I do have a boyfriend, Rory, so you don’t have to worry about any strange men coming and going if you rent me the flat.” The corner of her mouth turned up. “Although, I have to admit, Rory can be a strange bloke.”

Rose giggled a little at that. _Her_ bloke was an international superstar. Didn’t get much stranger than _that_. She didn’t out Ian, though, just smiled. “Most blokes can be strange, in my limited experience.”

As if he’d been summoned, the bells over the door rang again and Rose looked up instinctively. She felt a riot of butterflies when she spotted Ian looking around for her, and she could feel her whole face bloom into a smile. He was so incredibly gorgeous. 

“Bloody hell,” Amy marveled from across the table, then she leaned over to Rose and hissed. “That looks just like the Doctor.”

“That’s _my_ bloke,” Rose answered proudly, still gazing at him. 

The ginger woman across the table sounded dumbstruck. “But that… that _is_ the Doctor!”

Just then, Ian caught sight of her and winked. Rose smiled impossibly brighter, then held up a finger to tell him to hold on. He nodded and wandered into the store. 

Rose turned back to Amy to find the other woman gaping. “Are you alright?”

“The _Doctor_ is your _bloke_?”

“Yeah,” she said with as much nonchalance as she could manage. 

“Can I meet him?”

Rose laughed. “Of course you can. I’ll introduce you when we’re done.”

“Blimey,” Amy marveled, reaching up to touch her hair and smooth it. “Wasn’t counting on meeting a megastar today.”

“I wasn’t counting on meeting him, either, when I did. Just kind of happened.” Deciding to get back down to business, she looked at Amy’s application in her hand. “Honestly, Amy, I like you better than any of the other applicants that have come in. But I have to admit, I’m a little bothered that you don’t have a more steady job.”

“I’m actually working on that,” Amy said quickly. “The money is usually very good, but I know all too well there are busy months and slow months. I want to continue to model, but I’m on the lookout for a job that can supplement my income. Do you know of anyone who may be hiring?”

It felt like the stars were aligning to Rose. “I do, actually. You can work for me.”

Amy raised a brow. “For you?”

“Absolutely. You can come to work for me part time. I’m flexible and will be happy to work around your modeling jobs, so long as you can put in at least twenty-five hours a week with me.”

“You’re serious.”

“Deadly serious. When can you start?”

“And I can have the flat, too?”

Rose smiled. “I think you’re by far the best candidate I’ve seen. I’d love for you to have the flat.”

Amy squealed and jumped to her feet, circling around the table and hugging Rose tight. 

“You won’t regret this, I promise. I’ll be the best tenant you ever had. Employee, too.”

Rose laughed, getting to her own feet. “You’ll be the first tenant I’ve ever had, and Donna may have something to say about the other. Do you need to think about it, or...”

“No! I’ll take it! The job and the flat!”

Rose could have sagged with relief. Finally, after all these months, she was going to have an extra set of hands around the shop. Ian would be thrilled. 

Speaking of Ian…

“Why don’t you and I go back into the shop and you can get started on paperwork? And I’ll introduce you to Ian.”

“Ian?”

“My bloke. The Doctor.”

Amy gaped at her. “You’re serious. That’s _actually_ the Doctor and he’s _actually_ your bloke.”

Rose couldn’t help but giggle. “I’m very serious.”

“Oh, Rory is just going to _die_ when I tell him,” the ginger girl squealed, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “He’s a huge fan.”

The two women made their way through the arch into the shop, and Rose went behind the counter to get the paperwork for Amy. Just then, Ian came around the counter from the back of the store. Rose felt herself lighten when she saw him. He hadn’t done anything special, he was just there. It was amazing, and Rose was sure he had no idea what he could do to her just by _being_.

“Are you still busy?” he asked. “I can go look around a bit more…”

Rose smiled and went up on tiptoes to kiss Ian, balancing with her hand on his arm. “You’re fine, handsome, we’re just wrapping up. Besides, I want you to meet someone. Ian, this is Amy Pond,” she said, turning to introduce her new employee. “Amy’s going to be renting Dad’s flat, and also working here in the shop part-time.”

Ian raised his brows. “You hired help?”

“About five minutes ago,” Rose confirmed. 

“Well it’s about bloody time,” he groused good-naturedly, then stuck his hand out for Amy. “Pleasure to meet you. Ian Docherty.”

“Blimey. It’s really you.” Amy’s eyes were huge and her hand was limp in his. Rose watched as before her eyes, he took on a posture she’d never seen from him. He was stiffer somehow, less relaxed. There was something a little more dangerous about him now, something a little more cocky. One corner of his mouth quirked up in a sardonic smirk she found devastatingly sexy. 

“I take it Rose told you who I am.”

“She didn’t have to. Bloody hell, I never thought I’d be shaking hands with _the Doctor_! I saw you at Wembley four years ago with my boyfriend, Rory. Oh, he’s just going to die!”

“Always nice to meet a fan,” he drawled, releasing her hand. “I expect I’ll be seeing quite a bit of you if you’re going to be working here.”

“And renting Dad’s flat,” Rose reminded him, pulling the necessary paperwork out from under the counter. “Amy, you’re welcome to take these into Torchwood and fill them out, or you can bring them back to me tomorrow, whichever works for you.”

Amy shook herself a little. “Yeah. Torchwood. Sure. I’ll do that now.” She accepted the papers from Rose and grabbed a pen. “Thank you so much for this. I won’t let you down.”

“I’m sure you won’t,” Rose smiled. 

“See you later - Doctor,” Amy smiled brightly at Ian, and Rose felt a prickle of insecurity that an actual model would be hanging around so much - then dismissed it as silly. She couldn’t stop herself from slipping her arm around Ian’s waist, though. 

“I’m sure I’ll be seeing you often,” Ian said politely, inclining his head. 

Amy gave one more bright smile and went into Torchwood to start working on the paperwork. Once she was gone, Rose turned around to her bloke. She was pleased to see that his posture was back to the more familiar and marveled that he could turn it on and off so easily. 

“Hi there, handsome.” 

Ian glanced around quickly, then put his arms around Rose and pulled her into a scorching slow burner of a kiss. She felt herself turn to putty in his arms, barely able to get hers around his neck. He kissed her for much longer than could be considered decent, then pulled away reluctantly. Rose opened her eyes slowly, still wrapped in his embrace. 

“I missed you,” he murmured, his voice tender. 

“It’s only been a few hours since I left your flat.”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “A few hours is more than enough time. I missed you as soon as you walked out of the door.”

The blood in Rose’s veins felt bubbly and she beamed up at him. He kissed her sweetly one more time and let her go. Hoping to look even semi-professional, Rose went to the counter and started rearranging things idly. “So, did you come by for lunch?”

“That was one excuse I made up as a reason I could come see you, yes.”

Rose giggled. “You don’t need to make up excuses. You can come see me anytime you like.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he promised. “Shall I go get something for us to eat?”

“Probably so. I’d go with you, but I should be on hand in case Amy needs me.” 

“Understandable. I’ll pick up some sandwiches and bring them back here, how’s that?”

“Sounds good.” Rose went to the cash register and opened it, pulling out a tenner, offering it to Ian, but he furrowed his brows and scowled at her. “What?”

“You know what. Put that the fuck back.”

She sighed. “Ian…”

“No, I won’t hear of it. I have more money than I know what to do with. Let me take care of you, sweetheart. I want to.”

“You’re impossible. Do you know that?”

Ian chuckled and kissed her lightly. “You’re not the first person to tell me that. I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”

It sprung to Rose’s lips to tell him that she’d miss him, but she bit her lip. He smirked, seeming to understand her perfectly, and pecked her cheek before slipping his sunglasses on and making the bells jingle again when he left.


	23. Chapter 23

7 June 2016

“Do you have any retail experience?” Rose asked Amy as they headed towards the back of the store to get an apron for the red-haired girl. 

Amy shook her head. “No, not really. I worked at a department store when I was a teenager for one holiday season, but that was only for about two months.”

“Which department store?” Rose asked, pushing open the door to the back room. “I worked at Henrik’s for a couple of years in Uni.”

“Oh, nothing so fancy as that. I worked at Peter Jones,” Amy replied. “And even then I was only in the gift wrap department. So I don’t know much about retail, but I can wrap a mean coffeemaker!”

“Well, I’ll have to keep that in mind when the holidays roll around. It’ll be nice to have an expert on hand.”

She and Amy laughed together, and Rose was thankful - again - that she’d found someone she seemed to fit with so well. 

When the laughter died, she said, “This is the back room. As you can see, it’s just a basic stockroom. It’s the last stop for books before we put them out on the floor. There’s also a little office back here, but I never use it. You’re welcome to sit in there to take lunch or whatever you’d like.”

“Thanks!”

“Here’s your apron,” Rose said, offering it to her. “I thought about getting rid of them when I took over the shop, since they’re so ugly, but Donna threw a fit. She said she absolutely needed her apron to carry things around in - and it turns out she’s right. I don’t know what I’d do without my apron, now. So I know they’re not terribly stylish, but they’re rather handy. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Amy smiled brightly. “A girl always needs extra pockets!”

“Great!” Rose smiled back. “How about I show you around the rest of the shop?”

Rose gave her a tour around the store, pointing out each section and straightening as she went. When she was done and it was time to open, she set Amy up with a cart of books that needed to be shelved and turned her loose, hoping she’d gain a little familiarity with the shop as she worked. Amy seemed comfortable and pleased with the task. That accomplished, Rose went to the front of the store to start her day. There were scads of things to do, there always were, but her mind was on Ian so she decided to take advantage of the relative quiet and try to write.

She sat at the counter next to the register, deep in thought, the tip of a pen in her mouth and one finger tapping on the journal in front of her. She’d been trying to write Ian the promised song for two weeks, but nothing she came up with seemed right for him. After listening to all his albums, she had a better idea of what his style was. He wasn’t a balladeer, he was a rocker. Some of what he’d done had been romantic, of course, but the majority of his music had been… not. Even when it was clearly written about a woman, it had a hard, rocking edge to it. 

Which made a problem for Rose, because all she seemed able to come up with were lyrics about how mad she was about him. She’d written pages and pages worth of poetry, then drawn an ‘x’ through nearly all of it, judging it unfit for service as lyrics to a Doctor song. It was maddening. She was determined to write something he could be proud of, but the longer this went on, the more disappointed in herself she became. 

The phone beside her rang, and Rose threw her hair back when she put the cordless device to her ear. 

“Bad Wolf Books, may I help you?”

“There you are!” Jackie Tyler fairly shouted, and Rose slumped a little. 

“Mum,” she said, trying to be cheerful. “Haven’t talked to you in a while.”

“I know, and that’s part of my problem. Where have you been that you couldn’t take your bleedin’ mobile?” 

“Nowhere, Mum. I’ve just… I’ve been busy.”

“Busy doing what?” her mum demanded.

_Ian, mostly._

“Working.”

“Oh? Is that all?”

Rose tensed and narrowed her eyes. She knew that tone. Her mother had more than likely picked up on a scent about Ian and she’d follow the trail until she found out what she wanted to know. Rose needed to tread lightly, she knew, and not end up caught in a lie. 

“Mostly. I found a tenant for Dad’s flat, her name is Amy. She’s really nice, you’ll like her. She moved in this past weekend. I also put her to work in the shop, she starts today.”

“So you’re not dating some bloke named Ian?” she demanded.

_Welp. She got to the heart of that rather quickly._

“How the hell do you know we’re dating?”

“Donna told me.” 

Rose rolled her eyes and resolved to give Donna a disapproving look later. “Why are you checking up on me through my employees?” 

“I wasn’t checking up on you!” Jackie insisted. “And even if I _was_ , I’d have every right, considering you’re not telling me anything!”

“Mum, did it ever occur to you that maybe I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t ready to? We’ve only been dating a little over a month. It’s a bit soon to be subjecting him to my mother.”

“You watch your tone, little madam. I’m still your mum, and you don’t sass me.”

She rolled her eyes yet again. Rose had made an art form out of sassing her mother when she was a teenager, but there was no need to go into that now. 

“So tell me about this bloke, then,” Jackie went on. “I know his name’s Ian, but that’s all I know.”

Seeing no way around it, Rose pinched the bridge of her nose for a second. “His name is Ian, yes.”

“What’s his surname?”

Rose thought fast. Her mother had been a Gallifrey fan, presumably a fan of the Doctor as well, and she wondered if Jackie would recognize the name and freak out. But there was no way to keep his identity from her for any length of time, and Rose knew it. So she closed her eyes, braced herself, and went ahead. 

“Docherty.”

“Ian Docherty, Ian Docherty. That sounds familiar. Where do I know that name?” Rose started to speak, but Jackie cut her off. “Nevermind, it’ll come to me. Tell me more. What’s he do for a living? How’d you meet him?”

She decided to start with the easiest of the questions presented to her. “I met him in the shop. It was a little… bumpy when we met, but once we talked, we hit it off. He started coming in every couple of days and we’d have coffee. It just… evolved from there.”

“How long did that go on?”

Rose did some calculations in her head. “He started coming in around the beginning of March. We started dating on the first of May, so two months.”

“What on earth does he do for a living that he can hang around the shop all the time?”

“He doesn’t hang around the shop all the time!”

“Must do, you said he’s in there every couple of days. What does he do for a living?”

She took a deep breath and braced herself. “He’s a musician.”

“ _A musician!?_ Rose!!”

“He’s not like Jimmy, Mum. Totally different. He’s a musician, but he’s successful.”

“Well, I’ve never heard of him,” Jackie grumped, and Rose nearly laughed out loud.

“He’s also a producer. He makes albums for other artists. He’s very good, and very sought-after.”

“Mhm,” Jackie said, disbelievingly. “And you met this bloke at the bookshop.”

“Yes.”

“How old is he?”

Rose sighed. She knew this answer was going to go over like a lead balloon. “He just turned forty-seven.”

“ _Forty-seven!_ Rose!”

“What?” 

“He’s older than I am!”

She scoffed. “I know better than that, Mum. I’m your daughter, remember? And I know good and well that you’ll be fifty next February.”

Jackie muttered something that sounded like ‘ungrateful child’.

“Besides,” Rose went on. “I want him. I don’t care how old he is.”

“You can’t possibly --”

“I _do_ , Mum. I’m mad about him. And he seems to be just as mad about me. You’ll see.”

“You bet your arse I’ll see. I want you to bring him for tea.”

Rose’s heart stopped at the prospect of taking Ian to see where she’d grown up. No. Nuh-uh. She couldn’t do it. She’d rather die than take him to the estates. 

“Why don’t you both come to tea at mine?” she offered instead. “I’ll cook or order in, whatever you like. You can choose.”

“Ashamed to bring your bloke back to your home?” Jackie asked, proving herself to, once again, be entirely too astute for Rose’s taste. 

“It’s not that,” she lied, thinking fast. “My flat will be neutral ground for everybody. Neither of you will have the home field advantage, so to speak.”

She could almost see her mother thinking that over. “Oh, alright,” she finally conceded, and Rose smiled. “When? I want to do it soon.”

“How about next Thursday? The sixteenth.” she offered, looking down at the calendar and tracing her finger along the next week or so. “That’s the first time I have Donna and Amy closing together, so I can be off that evening. Be at mine at… half six? Seven?”

“Half six,” Jackie said. “And your bloke will be there, too?”

“He should be free. I don’t know of anything he has going on, but I’ll ask him. If it won’t work for whatever reason, I’ll ring you.”

“Oh, alright,” Jackie groused again, as if she hadn’t demanded the very thing that was being offered to her. “I’ll come to your flat and meet your old fogey boyfriend.”

Rose snorted a laugh. “Ian is anything but an old fogey. If his hair wasn’t rather grey, you’d never guess he’s the age he is. You’ll see. I think you’re going to love him. Jack and Ianto like him,” she volunteered. 

“Donna doesn’t.”

“Well, she’s just one out of three. I’m sure you’re going to love him, Mum.”

“We’ll see,” Jackie said skeptically, then changed the subject. “Speaking of blokes, Mo is seeing a new one…”

She listened to her mother ramble about estate gossip politely for as long as she could stand it, then she made some excuse about being at work and got off the phone. Now that the pressure was off, she picked up her pen and started bouncing it back and forth between her thumb and forefinger. She let her mind wander a bit, disengaging from the conversation she’d just had, doing her best to put it out of her mind. 

Rose sighed. She honestly had no idea what to write. She didn’t hold any strong opinions on any topic that mattered, and she’d spent most of her life up until this point in school, then clawing to get a toehold in the graphic design world. She supposed she could write about that, but who would be interested in something so mundane? Her life had been incredibly boring until she’d taken over the shop, if she were being honest. 

She scribbled down a couple of lines anyway, then scratched them out with a growl. This wasn’t working. She should be able to do this!

Ian’s voice was almost audible in her head: _You’re trying too hard. Just let it happen._ She was sure that’s what he’d say if she told him what was going on. Then he’d smile at her and kiss her, softly and slowly. 

Rose smiled. Even though he wasn’t here, she could feel his hand touching her face gently, and the way his kisses and caresses made her feel… like she was glowing inside. Without allowing herself to think too much, she wrote down a few lines that flowed easily. When she was done, she looked at what she’d written and was surprised. They were her thoughts and feelings, but they were also the words of a woman madly in love. But she wasn’t, was she?

_Was she?_

The bells over the door rang, putting the thought out of her head, and Rose glanced up hopefully. Ian was there, hooking his sunglasses in the collar of his shirt, smiling at her. She slid off the tall stool to her feet and met him at the end of the counter, rolling up onto her tiptoes to kiss him softly. 

“Hey, handsome,” she smiled. 

“Hello,” he smiled back. 

She nodded her head at the bag. “That for me?”

“Well, I’m _hoping_ you’ll share with me,” he told her with twinkling eyes. 

She hooked her finger in the side of the bag, peering inside, just as she did every time he brought food. “What is it? Doesn’t smell like Bruce’s…”

“It’s not. I thought you may be getting fucking sick of sandwiches and chips all the time, so I picked up something else.”

“I never get tired of chips,” she assured him with a bright grin. 

“Noted. But I thought you might, so I picked up Chinese, instead.”

“Mmm… I love Chinese.” 

“Good.” He bent to give her a quick kiss, leaving her smiling. “Where’s Donna?”

“She’s not here. Amy is, though.”

“I’m so fucking glad you hired some help.”

Rose smiled. “I am, too. I think she’ll be brilliant.” She went back on tiptoe and kissed his scratchy cheek. “Now go get our coffees. Give me the bag, I’ll go set the table.”

Ian handed the bag to her and went off to deal with Jack and Ianto while Rose told Amy where she’d be then took the food to the table. Once there, she pulled out the food: two orders of General Tso’s chicken. She’d only just sat down when she heard Ian give her the standard declaration that she was in his seat, adding a quick little peck to her cheek. She felt herself light up when he came into view, taking the seat across from her. 

_I’m in love with him._

The realization wasn’t as momentous as it probably should have been. She’d never felt this way about either of her past boyfriends. When she’d looked out on a future with Jimmy, she’d only been able to see strife and heartbreak. When she’d looked out onto a future with Mickey, she’d been bored. Day in, day out, same old same old.

But it was more than that with Ian. She saw joy in her future with him, even though she knew hard times and separations were coming. She saw evenings in and evenings out. She saw nights of incendiary passion, followed by her in his arms, feeling cherished and safe. 

There was no denying it, not to herself, not anymore. She was in love with him. And she had no idea what to do with that knowledge. 

Ian was waving his chopsticks in front of her face. “Hello… Earth to Rose…”

“Sorry,” she apologized, giving him a bright grin. “I was woolgathering. What were you saying?”

“My idiot best friend and Osgood are after me to invite you to dinner at theirs.”

“I know.”

He looked surprised. “You know?”

“Osgood has been after me, too. Remember? We’re friends now.”

“Christ,” Ian complained, his eyes twinkling. “That could be bad for me.”

Rose giggled a little. “When are we going?”

“When is good for you?”

She shrugged. “Sometime when the shop isn’t open. Maybe Sunday evening?”

Ian pulled out his phone and sent a text. Almost immediately, it beeped in his hand and he smiled. “Sunday evening’s a date. Maybe now he’ll get off my arse. How’s the songwriting going?”

“Slow,” she admitted. 

“I’ll be happy to help if you like.”

Rose shook her head vigorously. It would never do for him to read all the things she’d written about him. Not yet, anyway. “I’m fine, I’ll get it.”

He gave her an odd look. “Okay. Just know that I’m here for whatever you need, alright?”

She remembered suddenly. “Actually, there is something I need you to do.”

“Name it.”

“My mother is coming over for dinner next week and wants to meet you.”

He appeared to choke a little on a bit of chicken, but recovered quickly. Once he chewed, he asked, “You want me to meet your mother?”

“Well, it’s going to have to happen eventually. I hadn’t planned on telling her I was dating someone just yet, but Donna did when Mum called the shop and I was out with you.”

“Fucking Donna,” he grumbled. She gave him a look and he sighed. “Does she know who I am?”

“No. But she’s a fan of Gallifrey, and I assume yours. So it’s probably going to come out sooner rather than later.” He looked chagrined. “It’s not like I can keep it from her, Ian.”

“No, I know, you’re right, of course you’re fucking right. I just dread telling your mother who I am. Especially if she’s a fan.”

“She’s more concerned about your age, I think.”

Ian was eyeing her curiously. “She’s worried I’m too old for you?”

“A bit, yeah,” she admitted grudgingly. 

“Is that a worry that you share?” he asked carefully.

Rose’s head snapped up to look at him. He looked guarded, serious, and intense. It wasn’t a look she’d seen on him often, and she wasn’t sure what she thought about it. 

“No. Your age doesn’t bother me, not one bit. Does _my_ age bother _you_?”

He shook his head, going back to his food. “No, of course not, sweetheart. I just don’t want you to feel like you’re dating a fucking geriatric.”

Her look turned sultry and she lowered her voice, leaning across the table a bit. “A geriatric wouldn’t have me begging for more in bed every night, would he?”

A slow grin spread across his face. “No, I suppose not.”

“But you do.”

“Damn right.”

Satisfied, she sat back in her chair, then reached across and plucked his eggroll off his plate, taking a bite.

“Hey!” he burst out. “That’s mine!”

She waggled her eyebrows at him. “Tastes better from someone else’s plate.”

Ian tried to look disgruntled but failed and he shook his head, looking back down at his tray, smiling. Rose watched him select a bite, catch it between the chopsticks, then bring it to his mouth. 

_I love him._

To her surprise, the thought wasn’t terrifying at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not post this coming Saturday... the last chapter of this fic isn't finished yet and I'm blocked. It doesn't want to cooperate with me, and I'd rather space out the story I have a bit than run out of story and be under pressure to finish. Does that make sense? I'm about halfway to two thirds of the way done with it and know what needs to happen... I just can't word good. Send all your juju that I can get it written quickly. :) 
> 
> Also, you may notice that the remaining chapters of this story are almost like little one-shots. The main arc of this story is over, Ian and Rose are together now, and I'm tying up loose ends - plus placing little things here and there to tease out the planned sequel. Thanks for bearing with me!


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news - the juju you sent worked and I finished Shopgirl yesterday! So there will be no interruption in posting. :) Thank you!

12 June 2016

Rose was trembling, gulping for air and shuddering with an aftershock every time her skin brushed against Ian’s. The orgasm was over, but her body still sang from what he’d made it feel. 

Her eyes fluttered open to see Ian still propped above her, his eyes closed, panting. She just watched him, taking in the lines of his face, memorizing him so she’d be able to call him to mind right away whenever he wasn’t near. She never wanted to forget a single moment of this. 

At length, his eyes opened, and he looked straight down at her. After cracking a tiny smile, he lowered his head and started decorating her face with little kisses, just like he always did after they made love. Rose smiled under his attentions, relishing it, crinkling her nose when his scruff tickled. 

“My Rose,” he murmured between the tiny busses he was raining down on her face, “my sweetheart.” Then he placed a lingering kiss on her mouth. Rose wrapped her still-wobbly arms back around his chest, her body still tingling with sensation. When he broke the kiss, he just stared into her eyes for a minute, like he was searching for something. She stroked his back and did her best to show him everything, to hold nothing back. 

“You’re beautiful,” he finally whispered, his tone almost marveling. 

“So are you.”

Ian snorted, then ducked his head to give her one more quick kiss. “You’re delusional, but thank you.”

Her legs were starting to ache, and one of them twitched a little. Ian seemed to realize he was still on her (and in her) and withdrew. He was very slow and deliberate when he pulled his still-hard cock out of her, both of them groaning from the feeling of loss. As soon as he was out, he rolled off of her and flat onto his back with a moan. Rose adjusted her body a little, relaxing areas that had been stretched, but made no other move. She didn’t have time to. Ian rolled to his side and pulled her into his arms, belly to belly, cradling her close. She melted into the embrace, sliding one of her legs between his and nuzzling into his chest. He kissed the top of her head once she was settled. 

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

Rose looked up, confused. “For what?”

“For being with me,” he answered easily. “You could have any man you wanted, but you’re here with me.”

“Of course I am,” she told him. “None of them are you.”

He looked at her again with so much tenderness her heart stuttered. Then he smiled and gave her a soft kiss before he rolled over onto his back, taking her with him, pulling her partly on top of him. She tried to wiggle back a little so she wouldn’t be crushing him, but his arm around her was like iron, keeping her there. She certainly wasn’t going to fight against being held by him, so she just settled into the crook of his shoulder, instead. 

Ian drew little patterns on her bare skin, and a glance up at him told her that he was staring at the ceiling with a small smile on his face. 

“I could get used to this,” he remarked. 

Rose chuckled, content and happy. “You’d better get used to this, mister. I think I’m going to be hanging onto you for a while.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

It was Ian’s turn to chuckle, and he turned his head to kiss her hair. “Good.”

Rose shivered. 

“Cold?”

“I’m fine.”

He didn’t believe her and hooked the duvet with his foot, drawing it up to cover them both. Rose was grateful, but still snuggled close to Ian, preferring his body heat. Her hand that lay on his chest started doodling, drawing little shapes. 

“Marking me?” he said in an amused tone a minute later. 

“Hmm?”

“You just wrote your name on me.”

It only took her a moment to realize, with something like horror, that he was right. She’d done just that. A flush crept up her chest and face, and she tried to withdraw her hand from his chest in humiliation. “I’m sorry…”

His free hand closed over hers, stopping its retreat. “Did I complain?”

“No…”

“That’s because I don’t mind. Mark me all you like, Rose Tyler.” He laced their fingers and turned his head to kiss her forehead. “I’m all yours, as long as you want me.”

She didn’t say anything at first, but it seemed he was waiting for an answer. She raised up and lengthened her body, and he met her partway. They kissed gently, slowly, Rose catching his lips between hers playfully. She pulled her hand free and brought it up to touch his face, then felt his newly freed hand at the back of her head. The kiss deepened, and a mischievous Rose scratched his head. Ian growled, then broke the kiss. 

“Minx,” he accused. 

Rose just smiled, running her thumb over his bottom lip. He kissed the pad of her thumb as it passed and she smiled brighter, then nuzzled into him again. He stroked whatever of her skin he could reach, and Rose did the same, doodling on his chest and thinking that doing so could become habit. She hoped it did. Her fingers stopped, though, when she got to the place his tattoo was, and the question she’d kept forgetting to ask sprung to her lips. 

“What is it?” she asked, tracing it with her fingertip.

“It’s a tattoo,” he replied deadpan, then gave her a silly grin. 

“Cheeky. But really - what’s the story? It’s the symbol of your band, right?”

He seemed to brace himself. “Yes, it’s the symbol of Gallifrey. I got it when I was young and stupid - or maybe idealistic. How you describe me at that point of my life depends on whether you’re feeling generous or not.” Rose raised an eyebrow and he sighed. “I was twenty or so. Maybe twenty-one. We had just had our third number one hit off of a single album, and I thought we were fucking invincible. I thought everything was always going to be easy, that circumstances would stay the same - that _people_ would stay the same, and Gallifrey was going to be part of my life forever.” 

He hesitated for a moment and Rose pondered. There seemed to be more of a story there, but she wasn’t going to press him right now. Then he interrupted her train of thought when he blurted: “Plus I was drunk and Missy dared me.”

She giggled at the thought of Ian taking a dare to do something like that. “Missy, eh? Old girlfriend?”

Ian cut his eyes at her, looking shocked, almost offended. “No! No, no. Fuck no. There was never anything between Missy and myself. We were friends once upon a time, that’s all.”

“Once upon a time?”

“She and I don’t talk anymore.”

“Ah.” Rose was quiet again for a minute, then mused, “Sounds a bit like me and Mickey. Except he and I did date for a while years ago, and we’re still mates.”

Ian was the one raising an eyebrow now. “Oh?”

She swatted him gently. “Hush, you. That was, cor, that was seven years ago now.”

“And you and he…?”

“Are you _jealous_ , Mr. Docherty?” Ian sputtered a denial, but Rose rubbed a large circle to soothe him, to let him know she was just teasing. “I’m joking with you. He’s dating a doctor named Martha now, apparently they’re pretty serious. And I’m here with you.” She gave him a cheeky grin. “I’ve got my own Doctor.”

“Too fucking right, you do,” he growled, then kissed her firmly. 

“Fergus was with you in Gallifrey, wasn’t he?”

“Aye, that walloper was with me. He got a tattoo that night, too.”

“Same tattoo?”

“Yep. So there’s no need to ask him to pull up his shirt and show you,” Ian teased. 

Rose snorted. “As if I would. That’s Osgood’s bloke. I have my own man to ogle.”

Ian just chuckled, then sighed. Rose sighed, too, then looked over at the clock beside her bed. “Speaking of Fergus, we should get up soon, if we’re going to make it to their house for dinner on time.”

“I’m perfectly happy here, ta,” he told her, droll, cuddling her close. “There’s no need to pollute this day with that dobber.”

Rose giggled a little. “But I haven’t met him yet! I’m sure he’s lovely, and you’re just being greedy with me.”

“I’ll always be greedy for you, sweetheart,” he promised, then kissed her softly. When he broke away, he sighed, looking very put-out. “Do we _have_ to go? I really don’t want to let go of you, and I won’t be able to paw at you there the way I would at home.”

Rose felt a thrill at his use of the word ‘home’, but didn’t give herself time to analyze it. “I promised Osgood, and you promised Fergus,” she reminded him, and he pouted a little. She brought up one finger to cover his lips and catch his attention. “But as soon as we get home, you can hold me all you want, and I won’t leave your arms until time for work in the morning.”

His eyes twinkled at that. “Is that a promise?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, Miss Tyler.”

She very much hoped he did.

~*~O~*~

“This was originally Osgood’s house,” Ian was explaining as he walked Rose down the residential street in a quiet section of town, towards his best friend’s home. Rose carried a white box filled with pastries that she’d insisted on bringing with her, saying you should never show up to someone’s house for dinner empty-handed. Ian had tried to explain that this was just Fergus and Osgood and they were practically family to him, but Rose wouldn’t budge. He suspected there was a bit of anxiety underlying, and chose not to push her. With any luck at all, she’d be as comfortable with them as he was, and soon. 

“Should I call him Graham or Fergus?”

“You can call him whichever you like. He answers to both. And here we are,” he told her, indicating a brownstone townhouse just ahead. He guided her to the stairs with one hand on the small of her back, resting lightly. Once there, she gave him a wide-eyed look and he couldn’t help but chuckle a little when he rang the bell. “Relax, sweetheart. Osgood adores you and Fergus is going to, too.”

“I hope you’re right…” she said, looking uncertain. 

Ian couldn’t help it, he cupped her cheek and leaned in to kiss her, hoping to reassure her, to soothe her. As always, one little sip of her wasn’t enough, and his tongue was soon slipping between her lips, seeking more of her taste. His hand slid back into her hair to cup her head and hold her to him, and neither of them noticed when the door opened. 

“Bloody hell, Ian, I told you Oz would be making dinner. There’s no need to eat her face.”

Ian broke the kiss, scowling at his best mate while Rose flushed brilliant scarlet. “Do you fucking mind? We were busy.”

Fergus’ eyes twinkled mischievously. “Aye, you were busy mauling your lass on my front stoop. There are children about, nimnole. Won’t you think of the children?”

“Fucking numpty,” Ian muttered, then slipped his arm around Rose’s waist. “Fergus Fitzgerald, may I introduce you to Rose Tyler? Rose, this bampot is Fergus.”

Rose was still flushing when Fergus offered his hand to her. “Pleasure to meet you, lass.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too. Should I call you Fergus or Graham?”

“Either is fine. Only this dipshit calls me Fergus, though,” he explained, hooking a thumb at Ian. 

“Oi! Language!”

Fergus threw back his head and laughed. “Hark who’s talking! Anyone willing to go along with you must be immune from the ill effects of hearing too many bad words, mustn’t they?”

“It’s fine,” Rose said before Ian could retort. She was smiling, and he was pleased to note that she seemed more at ease now that Fergus had joked with her. “I don’t mind swearing.”

Ian squeezed her waist and kissed her temple. His sweetheart was perfect. 

“Well come on in,” Fergus said grandly, opening the door a bit wider, and Ian gave Rose a little nudge to go inside. She followed the gentle pressure of his hand and entered the foyer. “Make yourself at home, Rose. Ian knows where everything is - he was granted refrigerator rights long ago. I’m sure you’ll have yours by the end of the evening.” Rose tittered a little, and Ian wanted to thank Fergus for helping to ease her even more.

“It’s good to finally meet you, Rose,” Fergus went on. “Ian talks about you so much, I feel like I know you already.”

“He does?” Rose smiled, her cheeks heating a little.

“He babbles about you all the time,” he assured her, then took on a teasing expression. “What? He doesn’t talk like that about me?”

“We’re usually talking about other, more interesting things,” Ian interrupted, giving a mock glare to his best friend. “Why waste my time talking about the twat of the universe?”

“Where is Osgood? I have these for her,” Rose interjected diplomatically, indicating the white bakery box in her hand.

“Ooh,” Fergus said, peering at the box with interest. “What’s in there?”

“Spiced fruit tarts,” Rose told him. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like…”

“If it doesn’t bite him back, Fergus’ll eat it,” Ian assured her. 

“That much is true enough, he’s right about that. Those sound lovely, Rose. Did you make them yourself?”

“No, I’m not terribly talented in the kitchen.”

“That’s bullshit,” Ian scoffed. “You made a spinach lasagna for us last week that was to die for.”

Rose flushed again. “It was just a spinach lasagna.”

Ian squeezed the arm around her waist. “You’re too modest.”

Fergus stepped in then. “Oz is in the kitchen. Ian, we got some more of that godawful lager you liked at the pub last time, the one with the weird name. Help yourself to it, I’m not touching the stuff.”

Ian snorted, then turned and kissed Rose’s hair. “C’mon, sweetheart, I’ll show you to the kitchen.”

A lot of the tension in Rose’s body visibly drained when they arrived in the kitchen and she saw her friend. Osgood stopped chopping carrots, smiling brightly and wiping off her hands on a dishtowel before coming over to give Rose a big hug. She accepted the box with a smile. 

“They’re spiced fruit tarts,” Rose explained, obviously more at ease now. “I thought you might enjoy them.”

“You didn’t have to do that…”

“I did, too,” she insisted. “If my mum ever found out I was a dinner guest at someone’s house and didn’t take something, she’d never forgive me.”

Osgood gave her a warm smile. “Hopefully you’ll get to be such a frequent guest, you won’t feel obligated anymore.”

“Can I help you with something?”

“I’m just adding the finishing touches, but if you’d like to keep me company, I certainly won’t object,” the brunette woman smiled. 

“You two chat,” Fergus suggested, “I’m going to take Ian into the lounge. Get him out of your hair.”

Osgood rolled her eyes with a grin. “He’s not in our hair, Graham.”

Ian watched Rose carefully to try and gauge how she might feel about him leaving, but she seemed completely at ease now that she’d found Osgood. Nevertheless, he felt compelled to ask - “That alright, Rose?”

“Of course,” she agreed, smiling brightly at him. He kissed her lightly over the sound of Fergus teasing them and Osgood shushing him, then followed his grinning best mate out of the room. 

The two men took their customary seats in the lounge, and Ian crossed his legs comfortably. “So what do you think?” he asked as soon as Fergus was seated, excited to hear the likely answer. 

“I think you’re a knob.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “About Rose, fuckstain.”

Fergus’ eyes twinkled. “I’ve barely spoken to her yet. Hard to make a judgement on just a few seconds’ conversation.”

“Bullshit. You have gut instincts about everyone you meet. Always have. Tell me, do you like her?”

“She’s lovely. I look forward to getting to know her a bit.”

“‘Lovely’. That’s a good word for her. As is ‘perfect’.”

The other man raised an eyebrow. “Perfect, eh?”

Ian took a sip of his beer, smirking. “Perfect for me, anyway.”

“What’s Clara say?”

He stiffened. “Why the fuck would I tell Clara?”

Fergus rolled his eyes. “She’s your manager.”

“Yeah, but she has nothing to do with my relationships. Not this one, anyway.”

“So you’re planning on keeping Rose a secret?” his best friend asked skeptically. 

“I’m planning on keeping my love life completely fucking separate from my work life for as long as possible.”

“You know that’s not going to be easy,” Fergus reasoned. “The two are going to bleed into each other, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. There’s always overlap.”

Ian didn’t like the path this conversation was on one bit, and decided to change the subject. “We’re writing a song together.”

“Who?”

“Me and Rose.”

Fergus raised his eyebrows at that. “She’s a songwriter?”

“No, but I am. She writes poetry. We’re going to collaborate and I’m planning on putting it on the album.”

“What have you got so far?”

“She hasn’t shown me what she’s done yet. Every time I ask, she gets shy, and I don’t want to push her. I’ll build off of whatever she gives me.”

“Sounds like you have a plan.”

“My plan is to be with Rose. Everything else is incidental.”

“Blimey,” Fergus marveled. 

“What?”

“It’s nice seeing you in love. I thought I’d never see the day.”

Ian grinned. “It’s fucking wonderful _being_ in love.”

“Have you _told_ her you love her?” 

He shook his head. “Not yet. I’m working on a plan, and I’m waiting for the perfect moment.”

“Don’t wait too long, or she might just tell you first.”

“You think?”

“Oh, yes,” Fergus nodded. “I wish you could see the way she looks at you. I’m used to seeing women give you the heart eyes, but there’s a difference in hers. It’s like she sees more of you. It’s still heart eyes, but it’s...different.”

“I told you it was,” Ian crowed a bit, pleased. 

“Well, you were right. Congratulations,” Fergus said, raising his beer in a salute. 

Ian raised his own beer in thanks, pleased as punch.


	25. Chapter 25

16 June 2016

Rose was cooking and seemed to be in a mode that Ian could only describe as ‘frantic’. He’d offered to help at least ten times, but she’d turned him down. He’d tried to comfort her by holding her and kissing her, but she’d just smacked his hands and shooed him away. He’d been forced to satisfy himself with leaning in the doorway of her tiny kitchen, watching her with a mixture of amusement and concern. 

“Are you _sure_ I can’t do anything for you?” he asked, his arms crossed over his chest to keep him from trying. 

“I’m sure. And I’ve got to hurry…” she muttered, looking up at the clock. “Mum will be here any minute.” She looked more than a little panicked at the thought. 

Ian wasn’t sure what she was so worked up about. He understood the significance of the event, certainly. Making a good impression on Rose’s mother was a big fucking deal, and he needed to be on his best behavior. He didn’t think Rose would refuse to date him anymore if her mother _didn’t_ like him, but it would certainly make his sweetheart’s life a lot easier if she did. 

Rose said her mother had been a fan, and Ian wondered how that would factor into the evening. He’d never been in a situation even remotely like this before and - _fuck_. Overthinking it like this was only serving to give _him_ anxiety. Rose certainly didn’t need that. He willed himself to calm down and, needing to touch her, he spoke. 

“Rose?”

She made a distracted noise, but didn’t look up from the pot she was stirring. 

“Rose,” he said a little more insistently.

She looked up. “Yeah?”

He uncrossed his arms and beckoned to her. “Come here.”

Rose smiled a little, but laid the spoon down on the the spoon rest and came to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He cradled her close and swayed her a bit. 

“You’re working yourself into a lather, sweetheart, and you need to stop worrying so much. Your mum and I will get along fine, I’m sure. I’m terribly fucking charming.”

She laughed, and nuzzled herself into his shoulder. “I know. I do. But she seems stuck on the age thing and I’m --”

His brows knitted, concerned for the first time. “You’re what?”

“It’s twenty-two years, Ian.”

He raised his head to peer down at her, his concern growing. “You said it didn’t matter to you.”

“It doesn’t. It doesn’t matter to me one bit. But it’s going to matter to other people, and I’m afraid my mum may be one of them.”

Ian bent and kissed her softly. She was extraordinary, his sweetheart. Even when she was worrying about shit she couldn’t possibly control. 

“Sweetheart,” he started, “if you’re not bothered by it, I couldn’t give less of a fuck what anyone else thinks or says. Including your mother. If we’re happy with each other - and I like to think we are - it doesn’t matter.”

“But she’s my _mother_ , Ian.”

“I know that, and I’m going to do my fucking best to make a good impression on her. But are you going to leave me if she doesn’t approve?”

She shook her head, looking at him as if he were being daft. “Of course not.”

“That’s all I’m worried about.”

Rose smiled up at him and he cupped her cheek, giving her a tender look in return. _Christ._ It was almost pathetic, how much he loved this woman. But now wasn’t the time to tell her. Not when he was about to meet her mother.

He kissed her forehead, inhaling her scent, taking her in. “Better?”

“Better,” she agreed. 

“Good.”

There was a hissing sound from the stove, and Rose gasped, spinning out of his grip and dashing to move the pot that was bubbling over to another burner that wasn’t on. Ian resumed his previous stance, leaning against the door, his arms crossed, watching Rose run around, cooking. 

“We could order in, you know.”

“It’s too late to order in,” she said with the shake of her head. “Besides, this isn’t the kind of occasion you serve pizza at.”

Ian didn’t see why not, but didn’t say so.

"Sweetheart, you don't have to impress anyone."

"I do, but it's not just that. If this goes wrong, all I have in the house is fish fingers and custard."

He recoiled a little. "Fuck, that's repulsive."

“See?”

A knock came at the door, and Rose looked up with wide eyes. “Mum,” she breathed. 

“I’ll get it,” Ian volunteered, pushing off the door jamb. 

“No!” Rose fairly shouted, stopping him in his tracks. He turned around to see that she was holding the spoon out to him. “I’ll get the door. You stir this.”

He took the spoon, looking at her disbelievingly. “I’ll be happy to answer the door. I’m capable, you know.”

She grinned a little, looking a bit pale. “I know. I just want to be there when my mum meets you for the first time.”

That was understandable, Ian thought, so he stood aside to let Rose through the door. She went on tiptoes to kiss him quickly, then wiped the lipstick she’d left off with her thumb. 

“You can go ahead and kill the heat, just keep stirring for a bit so it doesn’t stick,” she instructed before she dashed out of the room. Ian just grinned and shook his head at the daft woman he loved, going to do as he’d been told. 

Once he was sure that the heat had died down enough that the sauce wouldn’t stick, Ian laid the spoon down and went to find Rose. 

“I mean it, Mum,” he heard from around the corner. “You’d better behave yourself. No cracks about his age.”

“It’s a legitimate concern, Rose,” came another voice. 

“Mum...I’m warning you…”

“Oh, what are you gonna do? Take me over your knee?”

“ _Please_ , Mum…”

Ian didn’t like that distressed tone to Rose’s voice one tiny bit, so he stepped out into the small foyer where she stood with an older bottle-blonde he assumed was Jackie Tyler. Smiling, he put his hand forward.

“Mrs. Tyler, I presume?” he said, taking her hand and shaking it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Ian Docherty.”

Jackie peered at him, and he could see the exact moment the penny dropped. Her face went a little slack and her eyes were wide. She raised the hand he had just released and pointed her finger at him.

“You’re…” she started, but didn’t finish.

“Ah, yes. Yes I am.”

She didn’t take her eyes off of Ian when she said, “Rose, do you know who this _is_?”

“I do.”

“He’s the Doctor.”

“Yes, Mum, he is.”

Jackie finally turned to look at her daughter. “Why is _the Doctor_ in your flat?!”

Rose stepped over to him and he took her hand. “I told you, Mum. Ian is my bloke.”

She looked back and forth between the two of them. “You’re dating the Doctor.”

Ian wondered if she were really that shocked, or just dense. 

“ _Yes,_ , Mum.”

“But you _can't!_ ”

Rose stiffened beside him. “I assure you I can. More than that, I am.”

“Sweetheart,” Jackie said, jarring Ian and making him rethink his use of that particular endearment, “you _can’t_ date him. It won’t mean anything. You’ll just be another in a long, long line.”

“ _Oi!_ ” he shouted, outraged, but Rose squeezed his hand and he didn’t say anything else. He just seethed.

Jackie glared and pointed at him. “I know all about you,” she sneered. “Dated every starlet in Britain, and most of them in the States, you did. Every week on every red top, it seemed like there was some new bint on your arm.”

He could _feel_ Rose’s eyes on him and he didn’t dare look at her, for fear he may see hurt in them. 

To defend himself, he said, “Nearly every one of those ‘relationships’ was a business arrangement.”

“A business arrangement! You hear that, Rose? He paid for sex with famous women!”

“ _I most certainly did fucking not_!” he shouted. Rose turned towards him, putting the hand he wasn’t holding over his chest. His breathing was heavy, more like huffing than anything else, and his teeth were clenched so tightly he thought he may crack a tooth, but the warmth and closeness of Rose was somewhat mollifying. He glanced down into her eyes, and she gave him a tiny smile. She hadn’t recoiled in horror, and he knew that at least - at _least_ he’d have a chance to explain. 

He took a deep breath and counted to three. “They weren’t that sort of business relationship,” he said to Jackie, who had her arms crossed and her hip cocked. “Not remotely. They were set up between managers, agents, and the like to boost popularity or promote a project. Lots of exposure in the press for being in a torrid romance was good for selling records or movie tickets. So relationships were faked. Nearly all of mine were.”

“Is that what you’re doing with my daughter, then? Grabbing headlines so you can sell your next album?”

Ian didn’t get a chance to speak. “ _No,_ Mum, and I resent you saying that. Implying I’m only good as eye candy or something. I never thought my mother would think that of me.”

“Of course that’s not what I meant!” Jackie protested. “But sweetheart, what are you going to do when he’s on the road, with groupies and whatnot?”

“I trust him,” she said simply, and Ian’s heart swelled. “He wouldn’t do that to me.”

Before he could confirm that statement, Jackie spoke up again. 

“Maybe you’re right, maybe he won’t go screwing around. I hope you _are_ right. But what about the other stuff?”

Ian and Rose looked at each other, confused. 

“Other stuff?”

“Yes. Other trappings of your hedonistic lifestyle.”

Ian thought he understood. “I have the occasional beer or glass of wine. Very occasionally, I’ll have two or three. Beyond that, I’m a teetotaler. I don’t even smoke.”

“Not _that_ , although I’m glad to hear it. I’m talking about messing about with other women.”

“I’d fucking never.”

“You don’t have to be having sex to be behaving inappropriately.”

He shook his head, bemused. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about you autographing tits and God only knows what else!”

“What are you --”

Rose gasped beside him, her hand covering her mouth. “He signed your tits, didn’t he, Mum?”

Ian and Jackie both gaped at her, and Ian desperately hoped for the answer to be an emphatic ‘no’. Jackie, for her part, was turning colors. “I’m not…”

“He _did_!” Rose exclaimed, sounding delighted and confusing the shit out of Ian. 

“Rose --” Ian didn’t know what he was trying to do by speaking, but he had a feeling he didn’t want to hear what was coming next. 

“When I was six, you left me at Bev’s so you could go see the Doctor. I remember wondering why you were going to the doctor’s office at night, because I thought the doctor was only open during the day. Then the next day, you came to pick me up and you were showing Bev something scrawled on your chest. I was cross about it because you always got angry whenever I drew on myself, and you hated when I scribble-scrabbled. But that _wasn’t_ scribble-scrabble, was it? It was Ian’s autograph.”

Jackie was a brilliant shade of magenta and Ian was sure that he wasn’t far off. Rose, however, was laughing. He was mortified and didn’t see what was so fucking funny. He looked at her disbelievingly and she sobered enough to lay a placating hand on his chest, looking up at him with her sparkling topaz eyes. “I’m sorry, Ian. But you really do have terrible penmanship.” Then she burst into giggles again while he scowled.

“It’s not funny, Rose,” Jackie admonished, and Ian found himself on team Jackie in this instance. 

“It is, Mum. It really is. Pretty sure I’m the only woman in the world that’s ever been in this situation.”

Jackie opened her mouth to speak and Rose gasped again. Ian panicked internally at what new revelation she may have, but she just squeaked “the sauce!” and turned to run. He started to tell her that he’d turned the heat off, but he wanted a second alone with Jackie. Once Rose was gone, he turned to the other woman.

“Look, Mrs. Tyler --”

“Jackie.”

“Alright, Jackie. And please, call me Ian.” _Not the Doctor_ , he thought privately, then he continued his original thought. “It’s very important to Rose that you and I get along.”

“I don’t trust you,” she fairly spat.

He gritted his teeth a little. “And I don’t blame you. You don’t know me. But you will. I’m not going anywhere.”

She scoffed. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“That’s right,” Ian said calmly. “You will. I adore your daughter and want to be with her. I don’t intend to part with her anytime soon.”

“But _why_?” Jackie demanded to know. “She’s not famous, she’s just a shopgirl. Who’s twenty-some years your junior, I might add.”

“Age doesn’t factor into the equation for us. Neither of us care how old the other is. That’s for other people to worry over. We just want to be together.”

Jackie eyed him up and down. “All I know about you is what the tabloids have said.”

“And you should know that tabloids lie to sell stories.” She made to say something else and he cut her off. “Yes, I was spotted with all of those women, but as I told you, they were arranged. I’ve never really been into the sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll lifestyle. There were never any trashed hotel rooms or anything like that, but even so, I toned it way back about fifteen years ago. And there are no addictions to substances in my life. Well,” he amended with a conciliatory smile, hoping to win her over a bit, “I do have a fairly significant addiction to caffeine.”

Jackie snorted. “Don’t we all, mate. But I just don’t know if Rose is ready to get swept up into your world. Whether you do it or not, there will be sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll all over. Rose likes simple things: reading books, writing every now and again. She’s not a party girl, never has been.”

“I’m going to do everything in my fucking power to keep her insulated from all of that as much as possible. I won’t be able to keep her sheltered from it all, but I swear, though, Jackie, I _swear_ , I won’t let anything happen to her. And I won’t hurt her.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Jackie chastised him. “What about when you go on tour? I know you do that every so often.”

“I do, every couple of years.”

“What will you do then?”

“I’d love for her to go with me.”

Jackie shook her head. “My Rose is not cut out for that life.”

He wanted to snarl that she had no idea what life she was talking about, but he refrained. 

“She won’t go,” Jackie predicted, either missing or ignoring his clenched jaw. “She’ll stay behind and run the shop. She’s got a strong sense of responsibility.”

“I’m still going to ask when that time comes.”

“So you’re just going to drag my baby girl all over the world?”

“Too fucking right I am! I can show her things she’ll never see otherwise, Jackie, don’t you see? I can take her places she’d never get to go. And yes, I’m going to do my absolute fucking best to take her with me. But -” he held up his hand when she tried to interrupt him. “I will keep her safe, and I will always bring her home.”

“You promise?”

“I fucking swear,” he vowed.

She gave him an assessing look. “You curse a lot.”

“I do,” he acknowledged. 

“And you love my little girl?”

He hesitated for just a second. “I think that’s something I should tell Rose before I tell anyone else.”

Jackie huffed a laugh. “That’s as good as a yes.”

Ian didn’t acknowledge that. “And I think we should agree never to speak of the… autograph business ever again.”

“Agreed,” Jackie nodded emphatically. 

Rose stepped out into the foyer, giving both of them a look. “Did I hear someone say ‘agree’?”

“You did,” Ian assured her. 

“Is this a good agree or a bad agree?”

“Good. Definitely good.”

“Sweetheart,” Ian said, going over to her and taking her into his arms. “Your mum and I are going to get along fine. You don’t need to worry about us.”

“We both love you,” Jackie said and he cut her a look, “and both of us want you happy. That’s all we want.”

“If us getting along makes you happy, we’ll get along. It won’t be hard,” Ian said. 

“What about the…” Rose pointed to each of her breasts, back and forth, rapidly.

“We’re never going to talk about that again,” Ian told her solemnly. 

Rose snorted. “ _You’re_ not. I make no such promises. That’s too funny to sweep under the carpet.” She turned and headed back towards the kitchen. 

Ian gave Jackie a blank look. “Don’t look at me,” she snorted, looking very much like her daughter in that moment. “She’s been like this all her life.” 

Ian just kind of stood there, not particularly sure what to do. Jackie walked off, calling over her shoulder, “Better get used to it, _Doctor_.”


	26. Chapter 26

22 June 2016

Both Amy and Donna were on the schedule to close tonight, so Rose left work in the mid-afternoon. She went upstairs to take a short nap, failing miserably, then got dressed to go to Ian’s flat, planning to surprise him. She’d changed out of her usual work kit of a fitted t-shirt, jeans, and trainers into a much more flirty outfit consisting of a floral blouse with an off-the-shoulder neckline (that Ian would love), skinny jeans that did wonderful things for her legs, and ballet flats. She pulled her hair up into a messy french twist, leaving her neck and shoulders exposed, knowing that doing so was going to be a temptation that Ian most likely wouldn’t be able to resist. The thought made her grin to herself. She felt pretty, and she was fairly sure that her bloke would only take his eyes off of her when his hands could take their place. 

His eyes were wide when he opened the door to his flat around four and saw her there. “Rose!”

She blushed a little. “Hi.”

Before she could say anything else, he took her by the hand, tugged her inside, shut the door, and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her until her toes curled in her shoes. When he slowed the kiss, then broke it, she was a little unsteady on her feet but he had his strong hands on her, holding her, keeping her safe - just as he always did. She looked up into his icy blue eyes, and all she could think of was how mad she was for him, how much she loved him, and what it did to her when he smiled back down at her like that, his eyes full of tenderness and affection. 

“I hope it’s alright that I came,” she said. “I know we didn’t have any plans tonight --”

“Of course it’s alright that you came. It’s fucking _brilliant_ that you came.” He lowered his head and started kissing the skin revealed by her top, just as she’d expected he’d do. “I was just thinking about you.”

She smiled, biting her lip. “Oh yeah? What were you thinking?”

Ian planted little kisses along her exposed shoulder, inching towards her neck. “I’d rather show you.” To her surprise, he brought his hands up, cupped her face, and pressed a kiss to her lips. “Later. Let’s go out.”

“Do we have to?”

“Why wouldn’t we? It’s a gorgeous fucking day, you look resplendent, and there’s a great big city waiting for us out there. All sorts of shit we could get into.”

“It’s just…” she hesitated for a minute, then plowed ahead. “I’m a bit tired. It’s been a long week, and the most appealing thing in the world to me right now is the idea of curling up on the couch with you, ordering a pizza in a little while, and watching some Netflix.”

He raised an eyebrow at her with a lopsided smile. “You’re suggesting Netflix and chill.”

Her tongue came out between her teeth in a flirty smile. “That’s more than likely, Mr. Docherty. But I’d like to just lounge around for a while right now, if we could.”

Ian leaned over and kissed her forehead, his thumb brushing her cheek. “Whatever you wish, sweetheart.”

After some debate about what to watch, they decided on a show then settled in to watch it. Rose kicked off her shoes and nestled into his side under his arm, and Ian pressed play. They’d watched three episodes and Rose was on the verge of falling asleep when Ian’s stomach growled under her hand. She raised her head to look at him. 

“You’re hungry?”

He shrugged, but didn’t say anything else.

“You certainly _sound_ hungry.”

“I could eat.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” she scolded lightly. 

“You were comfortable. I was happy. Why mess with a good fucking thing?”

She beamed at him, then raised up to give him a quick kiss. “You daft thing. Let’s go get pizza.”

“No. You’re not doing a damn thing.”

Rose tilted her head to the side. “I’m sorry?”

“I’ll order the pizza and go pick it up. You’ll stay here and relax.”

“Ian, we can go eat at the restaurant. It’s fine. You wanted to go out anyway.”

“No. You were all but asleep, and you’ve been limp as a fucking dishrag all evening.”

She clicked her tongue in exasperation. “At least order from somewhere that delivers!”

“Can’t,” he said with a cheeky grin and the mobile up to his face. “Pino’s is the best.”

She opened her mouth to argue - even though he was right - but Ian held up a finger and started talking into his phone, placing an order. Shaking her head, she settled back down onto the couch, taking Ian’s spot. 

He left a minute later, bending over and giving her a sweet kiss on the way out. The show was paused; she’d much rather watch it with him there. Deciding to be proactive, she got up and went into the kitchen, hunting around until she found plates and napkins. She figured it was probably better to wait and see if he’d prefer to eat at the table or in front of the TV, and with nothing better to do, she wandered his flat, peering at his Doctor things on the walls. 

Now that the initial shock and dismay about Ian’s work had worn off, Rose loved poking around his flat, looking at everything he had on display, asking questions about certain things. 

_The decorator put all this shit up. If it were up to me, it’d be in a box in the back room._

She paused in front of another framed cover of Rolling Stone, this one calling him ‘The Magician’. She’d teased him about when she saw it for the first time. 

_I’ll show you magician,_ he’d growled, and she’d been giggling when he dragged her off to his room.

Taking a step to the right, she grinned at a picture of Ian in a leather jacket. 

_It was a fucking phase. Didn’t last long._

Rose’s lip quirked a little because she didn’t see a rock star in a leather jacket - or a magician - when she looked at these pictures of him. She just saw her bloke. A knock came at the door, and she puzzled at it for just a second, wondering why Ian didn’t just unlock the door and come in, but figured that maybe he’d bought drinks or something and his hands were full. Either way, she’d help him. 

She went to the door, pulling it open with a smile, ready to greet Ian. Instead, there was a pretty, petite brunette looking down at her mobile. The strange woman held up a hand and started into the flat, brushing by Rose without even looking up from her phone. 

“I know, I know,” she said, striding into the lounge, leaving Rose behind to shut the door and follow. “Don’t bend my ear for coming. I wouldn’t have to drop in on you, Doctor, if you’d return my --” She looked up then and spotted Rose. To her credit, she looked just as shocked as Rose felt. “-- calls,” she finished. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Rose Tyler. Who the hell are _you_?”

The brunette woman waved her off dismissively. “I don’t have time for this. Where is the Doctor?”

Rose stiffened in indignation. “He’s not here, and I think maybe you shouldn’t be, either. Please leave.”

The other woman’s eyebrows shot to her hairline. “ _You’re_ telling _me_ to get out of his flat?” she scoffed. “Just who the hell do you think you are?”

Rose straightened her shoulders and raised her head, ignoring the insecurity that was assaulting her at the moment. “I’m his girlfriend.”

To her utter shock, the brunette woman burst into laughter. Rose watched her laugh until they slowed down enough to allow her to talk. “You’re delusional, is what you are! The Doctor hasn’t had a single girlfriend in all the time I’ve known him!”

Despite her annoyance with being called delusional, there was a part of her that was pleased to hear that Ian didn’t have a lot of girlfriends. She could think on that later, though. 

She opened her mouth to retort that she most certainly was _not_ delusional, when the door opened and Rose heard Ian’s keys drop onto the table beside the door. 

“Sweetheart?” he called out, and Rose shot a smug look at the stunned woman standing in Ian’s lounge. “Shit. Shouldn’t have yelled. Hope I didn’t wake you. If I did, I’ve brought pizza as a peace offering.”

Rose wandered towards the sound of his voice, which was retreating into the kitchen. “Um, Ian? You have… a visitor.”

“A visitor?” He poked his head out of the kitchen, into the corridor, and swore when he saw the brunette. “Fuck. And it was shaping up to be such a lovely night.”

“Who the hell is this, Doctor?” the brunette demanded. “And why the hell is she calling you ‘Ian’?”

“This,” Ian said, stepping into the corridor and going straight to Rose, slipping his hand around her waist, “is Rose. My girlfriend.”

The other woman looked like she was going to choke on her tongue. “ _Girlfriend_?! Her?!”

“What of it?” Rose demanded. “What about me?”

She looked Rose up and down. “Jesus, Doctor. If you wanted to date Taylor Swift, you could have just said so.”

Ian and Rose both made outraged noises.

“She’s not Taylor fucking Swift!”

“Clearly not,” the woman scoffed. 

“This isn’t fucking like that, Clara,” Ian growled. “This is the real deal.”

Rose had had enough. “You know, it occurs to me that you just barged into my bloke’s flat like you owned the place, and I don’t even know who the hell you are.”

“I’m Clara Oswald.”

“She’s my fucking manager.”

Rose’s head whipped around and she spoke without thinking. “What, the ‘pain in your arse’?”

Clara gave him a withering look. “Oh, that’s lovely, Doctor. Thank you for that. And yes, I’m your manager. Your manager who’s ready to _kill_ you! Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing someone?”

“What fucking difference does it make if I tell you or not?”

“What difference does it… you can’t possibly… _Doctor_!” she finished, utterly frustrated. 

“I can’t figure out why the fuck you’re upset with me for being in a relationship. It’s none of your goddamn business.” 

“If it has to do with you, it _is_ my business! And I’m not upset that you have a girlfriend, Doctor. I’m ecstatic for you, I truly am. I’m upset that you didn’t _tell me_.”

“Why the fuck would I tell you?”

“ _Because I need to know!_ ” she shouted, then gestured at Rose. Ian tightened his grip on her. “This isn’t something that can just _happen_. If you plan on keeping this relationship out of the public eye, _I need to know_ so I can help with that! If you’re not planning on hiding, _I need to know_ so we can spin it the way we want it!”

“It’s a relationship! There’s nothing to fucking spin!”

“Yes, Doctor, there is. And what’s more, you know it. You’re just being stubborn.”

He let go of Rose, stepping away, dragging a hand through his hair - an affectation that she’d only ever seen from him when he was agitated, and he was more agitated now than she’d ever seen him. Even on that first day in the shop, when he’d been so rude, he hadn’t been like this. It worried her, seeing him that upset.

She didn’t entirely understand the dynamic between artist and manager, but even she knew that Clara had a point. Ian had admitted as much in their conversations about the two of them and his work. 

Tentatively, she took a step towards him. “Ian?”

He didn’t acknowledge her, his eyes were directed at Clara. “Yeah, alright? You’re fucking right. I should have fucking told you. But do you have any idea how _fucked up_ it is to be dating someone and constantly asking yourself, ‘Is this relationship at the stage where I should tell my fucking manager about it’? That’s insane, and I didn’t want to fucking deal with it. I just wanted - _want_ \- to be in this relationship and be fucking happy about it. I was keeping her out of my work life as much as fucking possible.”

Somewhat calmer, Ian stepped over to Rose and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. Rose sensed that he needed her proximity just then and slid her arms around his waist, laying her head on his chest. She felt his heartbeat beneath her cheek, and he pressed a kiss to her hair. 

“Everything’s so fucking public,” he told Clara. “I just wanted this one thing to be private as long as possible.”

She looked at Clara. The other woman stared at Ian for a minute, then sighed and reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose. Rose almost felt sorry for her. _Almost_. Then Clara looked her dead in the eye and asked in a weary tone, “Are you even going to be here in six months?”

Her instinct was to be offended, and she raised her head off Ian’s chest to say something rude. But it occurred to her that it was a fair question. If Rose had no intention of sticking around, Clara would be doing a great deal of work for nothing. 

“Yes, I will. I’m not going anywhere,” Rose said, in a tone that she hoped was only mildly defiant. Ian squeezed her.

Clara gave a curt nod, then looked up at Ian. “What do I do? What am I telling the label? Is this going to be a secret?”

Ian was quiet for a minute, then sighed. “I don’t see how it could be, do you? It’s going to get out one way or another. Best to control the fucking spin.”

“That’s what I’m thinking.” She started towards the door. “I’ll be ringing you this week. We’re not done talking.”

“I fucking figured,” Ian muttered. He kissed the top of Rose’s head again. “I’ll be right back,” he said, then let her go to walk Clara to the door. Rose followed, intending to try to bury the hatchet a little with Clara, but stopped in the corridor when she heard them talking. 

“You told me you didn’t want to date anyone, you’d prefer to be alone. You said you’d rather cut your heart out than give it to a woman. You’ve said so a dozen times if you’ve said it once.”

“I know what I fucking said. Things changed.”

“Apparently so. You’re serious about this?”

“As serious as it gets. She’s not some fucking groupie or something like that. This isn’t even in the same ballpark. She’s _different_ , Clara”

“Is that why she calls you Ian?”

“She calls me Ian because it’s my fucking name. What, you think I was going to have my fucking girlfriend call me ‘Doctor’?”

“ _Everyone_ calls you Doctor.”

“Not her. And it may surprise you to learn that I have an entire fucking life that doesn’t revolve around being the Doctor. Rose is not the only one that calls me Ian. She’s just the most important.”

“You need to keep an eye on her. You’ve been burned before by fame-seekers, I know. That’s one of the reasons you cited for staying single so long.”

Ian scoffed. “Rose had no fucking idea who I was when we met. She only found out after we’d been talking for weeks. And when she found out, she didn’t treat me any differently at all. In fact, once we were together and she realized how big a celebrity I am, that I’m not just big in fucking Britain, she panicked and left me for a while. I thought I’d lose my mind for that couple of days. Trust me, she’s not in this for the celebrity.”

“Just… Be careful, Doctor.”

“Things here are fine. My relationship is fucking fantastic. Don’t worry about that. You worry about things out there, with the suits.”

“I’ll ring you tomorrow.”

“I look forward to fucking ignoring your call.”

Rose did her best to look as if she hadn’t been eavesdropping when he came back around the corner, looking irritable. She didn’t hesitate, just put her arms around his waist, hugging him. He held her, absently kissing the top of her head again. 

“I’m sorry about that,” he murmured into her hair.

She shrugged. “Don’t be. It was going to happen eventually.”

“Not like that, though.” He sighed. “She’s right. I should have told her.”

There was nothing Rose could say to that, so she didn’t. 

“It begins,” Ian said. “It starts right now, with Clara knowing. She’ll tell the label and the PR people will begin suiting up for when we become widespread knowledge.” He took a step back and put his hands on her shoulders, crouching a little to see her. “Last chance. If you’re not sure about this, Rose, if you want to leave, now is the optimal time. I won’t blame you for wanting to avoid this shit show. I’ll hate it with every fiber of my being, but I won’t blame you.”

It sprang to her lips to tell him that she never had any intention of leaving, ever, that to her, the sun rose and set in his eyes, that she was madly in love with him. She bit all of that back, though, in favor of a question. 

“Am I getting the Doctor? Or am I getting Ian?”

“I’m both, sweetheart. You’re getting both. I can only separate myself so much. But I’m all yours when I’m in Ian mode, and I’m still all yours when I’m in Doctor mode. That won’t change.”

“Am I going to be around when you’re the Doctor?”

“I hope so,” he grinned, and she smiled back. “There will be parties and whatnot I’ll have to go to for work. I hope you’ll come with me.”

She nodded. “I’ll be with you.” His face brightened and relaxed, like he’d been terribly anxious about her answer. The words ‘I love you’ bubbled up again, but she kept them to herself. He hadn’t declared himself, not really, and she wasn’t entirely sure those words would be welcome. 

Instead, she went up on her toes to kiss him softly, letting him deepen it as he saw fit. His hands caressed and stroked her, lighting up her senses, and she laced her fingers behind his neck, rubbing her thumbs along his bristly jaw. 

When he broke the kiss, she looked up at him. His blue eyes were intense, full of hidden meaning that she didn’t dare decipher. 

“Nothing has ever been like this for me before, sweetheart. Nothing has ever felt this way.”

“I know. Me neither,” she told him, still stroking his jaw. 

“It’s brilliant. It’s wonderful. And it’s fucking terrifying.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “But that’s okay. I’m afraid, but I know I’ll be alright, yeah? I’m with you.”

“How long are you going to stay with me?” he asked, anxious lines on his face. 

She toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck and smiled up at him. “Forever.”

He kissed her then to seal the promise, and Rose thought about using the charged moment to confess her love but her higher thought processes were disrupted by the play of his hands and mouth on her. Later, she figured. She could tell him sometime soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost finished! Two more chapters!


	27. Chapter 27

26 June 2016

Sundays had become Ian’s favorite day of the week in the nearly two months he’d been dating Rose. She usually stayed the night with him at his flat on Saturday, and he had the tremendous joy of waking up to find her beside him. There was breakfast together on Sunday mornings, then they’d make plans to do something fun while they ate. They’d been back to the planetarium (where Ian had spent more time stealing kisses in the dark than paying attention), but they’d also been to a couple of galleries and the British Museum. Ian had particularly enjoyed that last, since it had given him an opportunity to lecture about assorted historical artifacts, pointing out inaccuracies and generally looking terribly clever. Rose was an attentive pupil, asking intelligent questions, debating him on occasion and being all-around delightful. She was damn near perfect, his sweetheart.

On one particularly beautiful Sunday, they’d gone to the Bad Wolf and each picked out a book, then they’d gone to the local park and taken over a bench under a shady tree. Ian had sat on one end of the bench, then been surprised when Rose lay down, resting her head on his lap and crossing her legs. His heart had swelled with love for her, and they’d spent at least three hours reading, soaking up the fresh air, listening to children playing nearby. He’d tried, but he couldn’t remember a more perfect afternoon. 

Today, however, it was raining. Neither of them had any real inclination to go anywhere, so after breakfast they’d retired to the lounge to kick off a lazy day. The rain pattered against the window, creating comfortable white noise, and Ian found himself dozing a little as they watched documentaries. 

After a couple of hours Rose was bored and got up, saying she needed to do something else. Ian stood up as well, cracking his back and lamenting his age, then an idea sparked. Deciding to act on it before he lost his nerve, he went to get Idris. When he got back to the lounge, Rose had curled in the corner of the couch with one of Ian’s history books. He kissed her head as he walked by, then sat down on the opposite end of the couch, putting Idris in his lap and starting to play. 

It felt foreign, this quiet companionship. He’d never had anything like this in any of his prior relationships, and he’d spent a fair amount of time telling himself that he didn’t want it. But Rose...everything with her was simple. Effortless. He found himself not only enjoying these times of quiet domesticity, he _craved_ them. 

She turned so her back was against the arm of the couch, her legs stretching out along the seat, her feet now lying innocuously against his thigh. He couldn’t think of a single person he’d ever known that he would let put their feet on him, but Rose...he just couldn’t find her little feet anything but cute. 

Rose wasn’t paying him any mind, though. She’d gone back to her book. He gave her an affectionate smile and went back to Idris. 

Ian played through a few of his older songs aimlessly, not really paying attention to what he was doing, just playing. After a while he looked over at Rose. She was still reading and he swallowed hard, hoping that the plan he’d come up with would work. 

Taking one more deep breath, he started playing again. A quick glance to his right after a couple of bars told him that Rose was watching him. 

_Please let this go my way_.

“I’ve never heard that one before. That’s really pretty,” she said. 

“I sure hope so. I wrote it for you.”

“For me?”

“Yes, sweetheart. For you.”

She just sat there with a smile, listening. Not doing what he needed her to do. He decided to prod her along a bit. “Know what it’s called?”

“Hmm?”

He didn’t even try to be covert, just looked straight at her and, with his heart in the vicinity of his adam’s apple, said, “It’s called ‘I Love You, Too’.”

Rose just stared at him blankly, and he watched as what he’d just said hit her. Her eyes widened.

“You said…”

“I did.”

“When I was learning to write songs…”

“Yes.”

“You said ‘what you want to hear’...”

“Said back to you. Yes.”

His heart stopped while waited for a reaction. Rose still stared at him, wide-eyed, then her face broke into a smile like a sunrise. “Does that mean…?”

“I do, sweetheart. I love you. I love you so fucking much it scares me sometimes.”

He just barely had time to set Idris to the side before she was straddling his lap, her arms around his neck, hugging him tight and squealing. Ian laughed - he couldn’t help it, he was too fucking happy - and hugged her back until she raised her head and pressed her lips to his, kissing him exuberantly. One of Ian’s hands went to her waist, sliding around to grip her denim-clad bum. The other threaded his fingers through her hair behind her ear and held her face close to his - not that there seemed to be any danger of her pulling away. 

The kiss turned languid after a couple of moments and he gently drew back, grinning when she chased him. She grinned back at him, then nuzzled into the crook of his shoulder. He held her for a moment, just pleased with her weight against his body. After a few minutes, he got impatient - and anxious.

“Sweetheart?”

“Mhm?”

“There’s something I’m kind of hoping to hear…”

She laughed out loud, raising her head and cupping his smiling face with both hands. “I love you, too, you daft thing.” She planted a kiss on his lips. “Have done for ages. I thought I was alone.”

“You’re not alone,” he assured her. “I love you, Rose.”

Lowering her head, she kissed him through her smile, and he happily kissed her right back. His tongue traced her lower lip, and she parted them, allowing him entrance. He took advantage, letting his tongue chase hers, his hand roaming. Rose threaded her fingers through his hair - not quite the scratching that drove him mad. It was enough to make him grip her bum tightly, his fingers digging into the flesh a little, pulling her heat closer to where he was hardening for her. She rolled her hips, grinding herself on him, breaking the kiss to grin against his mouth when he growled. 

In retaliation, he covered her breast with his right hand. There was too much fabric in the way for his taste, though, and he grabbed her scoopneck tee and yanked it down and away from the flesh he was after. Once it was clear, he started tugging the cup of her bra aside, his mouth at the ready, but wasn’t having much luck. He heard a chuckle then, “Here. Let me help you.”

Ian sat back a little, giving her space while Rose tugged her shirt off, then reached behind herself and unclasped her bra. The second her breast was bared to him, he sat up, catching it in his mouth while his free hand massaged the breast he hadn’t gotten to yet, pinching and flicking the nipple. He heard her chuckle again half a second before both of her hands slid through his hair, getting a light handhold and keeping him in place. She arched her back and undulated her heat against him rhythmically. Ian growled when she scraped her sharp nails along his scalp and traded breasts, ringing his tongue around the nipple made hard by his fingers, then sucking it into his mouth.

His hands slid from the outsides of her thighs to her bum and up her bare back, thinking that he had never felt anything softer than her skin. 

“Ian,” she said, and he looked up at her without releasing her breast. She was looking down at him with her lip caught between her teeth, still grinding on his cock, providing just enough friction. 

Rose reached down his sides and grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, and Ian let go of her breast to help her tug it over his head. Once it was gone, he attacked her neck, his favorite of her body parts, kissing and licking and nipping.

“I love you,” he murmured against her skin, so relieved he was finally, _finally_ allowed to say it. "I love you so fucking much."

She didn’t answer him right away. Her small hands came to either side of his head and tipped his face up to her, forcing him to relinquish her neck. Her eyes, those topaz eyes he loved so much, were boring into his. 

“I love you, too, Ian Docherty,” she told him, and he couldn’t help it. He had to kiss the mouth that had just said those blessed words. He wrapped his arms around her bare chest, pulling her as close as he could get her, his skin pressing against hers while he kissed her with all the fiery passion he felt for her. The contact between them both relaxed him and left him keyed up. Unable to get her any closer, he skimmed his hands all over her back restlessly, finally clutching her bum.

Rose broke the kiss, raising her head just enough that they weren’t touching, but her hair still fell around their faces in a sort of curtain. 

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, in awe of this woman and the fact that she loved him. She closed the couple of inches between them and kissed him, still undulating, still driving him absolutely fucking insane. 

“Ian?”

He’d gone back to her neck. “Hmm?”

“I want to ride you.”

The words shocked him enough that he stopped kissing her and looked up. Her eyes were twinkling down on him, and the little smirk she wore was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. 

“Did you hear me?” she asked innocently.

“I’m not sure I heard you correctly. You may need to repeat yourself. Several times.”

She grinned and leaned over, putting her mouth right next to his ear. Her breath tickled and aroused him, and he grasped her still-moving hips like a lifeline. 

“I said,” she breathed. “I want to ride you. I want to ride you right here on this couch, right now, in the middle of the day.” He gripped her even tighter, screwing his eyes shut. Rose gave a breathy laugh and nipped his earlobe. Ian shivered and let out a large breath.

In the two months they’d been together, Rose hadn’t engaged in very much dirty talk, nor had she taken the lead very often. Not like this. The fact that she was now...he felt sure that he was going to combust. She was nibbling his earlobe and pressing kisses to the little hollow behind his ear, but stopped long enough to murmur, “Is that alright?”

“Yeah,” he said in a voice that he didn’t recognize as his own. “Yeah, that’s alright.”

She pulled back from him, grinning at him with her tongue between her teeth, then eased herself backwards and into a standing position. She made a show out of unbuttoning her denims and pushing them down, along with her knickers. Ian clenched his fists on his legs, unable to form any sort of rational thought. 

Finally she stood before him, naked and perfect. He reached for her, but she sidestepped him. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” she teased, then bent at the waist and reached for the button of his jeans. “Got to get rid of these, first.”

Right. Yes. Naked is good. Naked is the best. He should be naked.

He planted his feet and raised his hips off the couch just a bit, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his denims and pants and pushing them down towards his knees. The moment that his pants cleared his cock, though, Rose fell to her knees an took it in her hand, then into her mouth, bobbing her head, her hand stroking what her mouth couldn’t reach. Ian yelped and his hands scrabbled on the couch a bit while she licked him all the way up with the flat of her tongue, then swirled the tip. 

“Jesus, Rose…”

She didn’t answer, just sucked him, hollowing out her cheeks and making him pant. His hands clenched by his sides, unsure what to do. Rose’s hair was tickling his legs and it must have been getting in her way because she pulled off him long enough to gather it into a ponytail with her hands. 

Ian was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “Thought you were gonna ride me?”

“I am,” she grinned. “But I’m not done. Here,” she said, taking his hand and bringing it up to her hair. “Hold this.”

When she was satisfied with his grip on her hair, she gave his cock a couple of strokes, then sucked it into her mouth without a word. Ian managed not to cry out this time, but he still gasped. The fist wrapped around her hair rose and fell with the motion of her head, and the sight of his cock sliding in and out of her mouth was unbelievably hot. He groaned and swore - couldn’t help it. Rose pulled off, her hand still jacking him, pumping faster now. She looked up at him, her eyes and voice sultry. 

“You alright?”

“I’m fucking fantastic,” he managed to get out. 

“Good.” 

She bent back down, but he put a hand on her shoulder and stopped her. When she looked up at him, he dropped her hair and slid his arm around to tug her up. “Come here.”

Rose continued to pump his cock, twisting her wrist a little with each stroke. “You don’t want me to finish?” she asked, her tone impossibly sexy.

“Not like that,” he told her, tugging again, a little more insistently now. “I love it when you do that, sweetheart, but I want to be fucking inside you.”

To his relief, she released him and climbed into his lap, straddling him, laying her wrists on his shoulders as she settled in. Ian felt the fingers of one of her hands dragging themselves rhythmically through the short hairs at the base of his neck. He wanted to throw her down and fuck her senseless, but did his best to satisfy himself with skimming his hands over her bare skin. 

She scooted forward until her heat was centered over his cock. The feel of her slippery heat lubricating him made him wild, and he sucked in a breath. Rose moved her hips in a back and forth motion, letting his cock furrow between her lips. He gripped her hips, waiting for her to take him inside. She seemed content with what she was doing, though, so he looked up into her eyes. “Sweetheart, please…”

Her head dipped to kiss him at the same time she reached for his cock and lined him up, sliding onto him with her next stroke. They both moaned into the kiss and Ian’s fingers dug into the bare flesh of her hips. 

The back and forth rhythm she’d been using barely faltered, but now he was inside her, fucking her, and it was fucking brilliant. Her breast drifted dangerously close to his mouth and he caught it, suckling it. Rose rode him gently, guided by his hands on her hips, gradually speeding up. She made little grunts and moans, running her fingers through his hair, telling him how good she felt when he filled her, when he fucked her. She sped up the movements of her hips then, bouncing on him now, and Ian's eyes nearly rolled back in his head. It felt so ridiculously good, so fucking fantastic…

Rose’s pleasure seemed to intensify. Her head lolled back and she bent herself backwards a little, arching her back so she was on full display for him. She started babbling, pleading, groaning his name, and calling out to God. Ian fucked her harder from below, sensing she was close, and started to circle her clit with his thumb. Rose responded by getting louder and clutching her breasts, kneading them, pinching her own nipples. He didn’t let up his thumb’s assault on her clit, finally landing on the spiraling pattern she seemed to prefer. She got louder and louder, and her cries drove him higher. 

“God, Ian… _fuck_...”

“Come, sweetheart,” he begged her, feeling himself getting closer. “Come for me.”

Between the circling of his finger and the thrusting of his cock, he felt sure she’d come soon. He was right, and within moments her walls fluttered around him. Seeking to help her along, he knocked her hand away from her breast and started sucking on it again, his tongue lashing around the nipple, scraping it with his teeth. She did her best to get a handhold in his hair but detonated before she could, bucking and thrashing and screaming her pleasure. Ian didn’t let up the motions of his finger or the pounding of his cock into her wet heat. 

When her orgasm was mostly over, he turned them and dropped her unceremoniously onto the seat of the couch, then he covered her at once and thrusted home. She cried out but he didn’t slow down, slamming his cock into her over and over, fucking her as hard and fast as he could. She was climbing again, climbing fast, and her whining pleas for him became louder and less coherent. He could feel himself getting closer and closer and grabbed one of her legs, throwing it over his shoulder, changing the angle. Rose arched herself and he attacked her neck, relishing the taste of her as well as the wet slap of their bodies. 

Without warning she came again, letting out a long, high-pitched wail that he broke into grunts with the slamming of his hips. The tightening of her channel around him was enough to send him careening over the edge after her, and he went with a strangled shout of her name. 

He fell back to Earth slowly, his senses coming online one at a time. Rose’s nails dragging down the skin of his back helped speed things along - and prompted a delicious aftershock. Ian took a deep breath, inhaling _her_ , and realized he’d buried his face in her neck when he came. Unable to resist temptation, even completely sated as he was, he pressed a kiss to her soft skin before he propped himself up, lifting most of his weight off of her and looking down on her beautiful face. Her eyes were at a lazy half-mast, her face relaxed, and a small, satisfied smile uncurled across the bottom of her face. Ian was sure he’d die if he didn’t kiss her soon, so he did.

“I love you, Rose. I love you,” he repeated over and over while he rained kisses all over her face. “I love you, sweetheart. Stay with me forever.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised him with a smile. He gazed down at her, awed by her beauty and his luck, then pressed one more kiss to her lips and rolled off of her onto his side, pulling her into his arms. She nuzzled into his chest sweetly, and he sighed, content. “I love you, Ian.”

He held her a little closer. “I love you too, sweetheart. Fuck, feels good to say that out loud.”

She giggled. “It does. And you’re welcome to say it as much as you like.”

“Think I’ll take you up on that, Ms. Tyler.”

“Good,” she said, then sighed happily.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here it is, folks, the end of this particular story. I have more in store for Ian and Rose in this 'verse...there's a one-shot I'm working on and I'm hoping to write their sequel that follows Ian's album release and tour during NaNoWriMo. Keep your fingers crossed for me, because words have been harder than usual lately. 
> 
> I want to take a minute to thank every one of you who have read, enjoyed, and/or commented on this story. Your encouragement means the world to me, more than I could ever tell you, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. 
> 
> Thank you!!! xoxox

1 July 2016

Ian glanced around one last time, making sure everything was in place. Everything seemed to be perfect, and he smiled to himself. Rose enjoyed sticking close to home after long days at work, and since she’d both opened and closed today, he knew she’d be tired. A quiet evening in celebrating their anniversary would be welcome, he was sure. 

Satisfied that everything was as prepared as it could be, he jogged down the stairs to his flat and grabbed his keys from the side table, heading out to pick Rose up. He parked right in front of the shop and went to the door, knocking when it didn’t open for him. Inside, he could see Rose’s head snap up from where she stood behind the counter, and she smiled when she saw it was him. Within seconds, she was at the door, unlocking and opening it for him. 

“Hey handsome,” she greeted him, rolling on tiptoes to accept his kiss. 

“Hey sweetheart. How was your day?”

“Long,” she admitted, going back to the counter to finish her counting. She looked weary, and Ian frowned a little. “Thankfully Donna will be here to open tomorrow, so I can sleep in.”

“I brought the car,” he told her, feeling a little anxious at her tired tone. 

“I don’t feel like going out tonight,” she said, her lips making a moue, looking sad to be disappointing him. 

“You misunderstand me, sweetheart,” he assured her. “I brought the car so I could drive you back to mine, if you want to go. If you’d rather stay at yours tonight, we can do that. As long as I get to be with you, I’m happy.”

She grinned at him. “You brought the car to drive me two blocks?”

“You’ve been on your feet all day,” he explained. “You’re bound to be tired.”

“I am,” she admitted. Then her voice took on a little bit of a teasing tone. “You must really want me back at yours then.”

“I really want to be with you tonight, no matter where it is. But,” he continued, “I do have a bit of a surprise for you at mine, if you’re willing.”

Rose raised an eyebrow. “A surprise?”

“Just a wee one. It’ll keep another night, if you’re too tired.”

She shook her head. “No, I hate to think of you going to all that effort and me not appreciating it. I’ll be fine, just let me rest and recharge a little once we get to yours, if you don’t mind. Alright?”

That worked perfectly for Ian, and he bent to kiss her lightly. “I can tell you part of your surprise, if you want to hear…”

“Go on, then. You know I don’t mind spoilers.”

“I’m ordering dinner from Ronaldo’s to be delivered shortly after we get back to the flat. And I guess,” he added with a smirk and exaggerated roll of the eyes, “since you’re so sweet and asked so nicely, we can sit down while we eat. Rest our feet.”

She giggled a little. “Wisearse.”

“Your wisearse.”

“You’d better be.” She placed a soft kiss to his lips, then murmured against them. “I love you, Ian Docherty.”

He smiled against her mouth. “I love you, too, sweetheart.”

“Good.” She kissed him again, quickly this time, then gave him a playful shove. “Now go away for a few minutes. I have to count this deposit or we’ll be here all night.”

“Yes ma’am,” he agreed with a quick kiss to her lips, then wandered over to the magazines. It never took her too long to count the deposit, he knew, and he settled in with a magazine to wait. He was deep in an article about ticket scalping when Rose stepped up beside him, shouldering her purse. 

“Alright, all done. I need to run up to the flat and get a change of clothes, if I’m staying at yours tonight.”

He put the magazine back. “Maybe you should just leave a couple changes of clothes at mine,” he suggested hopefully. 

Her tongue curled around her teeth. “Yeah?”

“Absolutely. So you don’t have to come home before you open the shop.”

“Maybe I will,” she grinned, setting the alarm and following him out onto the pavement. He stood by quietly while she locked the door, then followed her up the stairs to her flat. 

It was tempting for Ian to scrap his plans and stay right where he was once they were in hers, and he was unable to stop himself from stealing a few kisses while she dashed around the flat. But the lure of his surprise was too much to ignore, and he did his best to wait patiently and not distract her while Rose changed her clothes and packed an overnight bag. It wasn’t easy, since she seemed to take forever, and he used the time to phone in the order for dinner. But when she stepped into the lounge wearing a flowy, polka-dot, button-up dress, all his complaints died on his lips. She looked stunning, utterly gorgeous in such a simple outfit, and he was dying to get her back to his. 

“Do I look alright?” she asked, giving him a little twirl. 

“You’re fucking breathtaking,” he told her honestly. She scoffed a little, but didn’t protest when he stepped over to kiss her. “Really, sweetheart. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“I love you, too,” she told him, and he smiled.

He took the overnight bag from her and shouldered it. “Ready, Ms. Tyler?” he asked, offering his hand. 

“Ready, Mr. Docherty,” she agreed, threading her fingers through his.

Ian stole one more kiss, then they left. 

It took longer to get the car turned around in traffic than to get back to the flat, and he felt something akin to butterflies when he parked. Rose was all smiles, seemingly excited, so he swallowed his own nerves and took her bag again, leading her to the elevator. 

Once they got to the top floor, he unlocked the door and ushered her in, her bag still on his shoulder. He instructed her to go sit in the lounge while he dropped it off. He dropped a light kiss to her pursed lips and squeezed her hand, then went to do as he’d said. When he came back, he reclaimed her hand again and led her to the couch.

“I told you to sit,” he admonished playfully.

“Have you decided against the surprise?”

“No, not at all.” He took a seat a little ways from her, pulling her feet into his lap. He got rid of her shoes and started to massage her feet. “We’re waiting for dinner to show up. In the meantime, I thought I’d make you more comfortable. Help you relax. You fucking deserve it.”

“Ian…”

“What?”

“Those are my _feet_.”

“I love every part of you, sweetheart,” he assured her, massaging gently. “And I thought you might appreciate a little pampering after a long fucking day. Am I wrong?”

Rose shook her head vigorously. “No, not at all. I’m just…”

“Taking care of you is my honor, sweetheart. I’m happiest when you’re happy.”

“You make me happy just by being with me,” she told him with a shy little smile. 

Ian smiled back. “Good. But you deserve to be spoiled, so relax,” he encouraged her, switching feet. “Just rest for a while.”

Rose sighed elaborately, giving in, leaning against the cushions of the armrest. She made little noises of pleasure every now and then while he rubbed her feet and legs, and he was thrilled to know he was making her feel good. 

After a few minutes Ian’s phone dinged beside him, announcing that the food delivery was downstairs. He sent back a reply and eased her feet out of his lap, getting to his feet. When Rose started to get up, he stopped her. 

“No, wait here,” he told her, bending to kiss the top of her head. “I’ll come get you when I have everything laid out and ready to eat.”

“You spoil me,” she accused, her tongue between her teeth. 

“I try,” he told her, then kissed her hair again. “Be right back, sweetheart.” With that, he went to wash his hands and meet the delivery driver at the door.

It took him a little longer than he’d expected to get everything laid out to his satisfaction. When he’d finished, he went into the lounge to find Rose snoozing on the couch where he’d left her. 

He touched her knee gently. “Sweetheart?”

She woke with a start. “Oh! I’m sorry, I must have nodded off.”

“Don’t apologize. Do you want to sleep a little longer?”

“No,” she answered with a yawn. “I’m fine. Feel better now. A little catnap did me a world of good. Is it time to eat?”

He helped her up. “It is. Are you ready for your surprise?”

“I suppose so…”

“Good. This way.”

Ian led her past the dining room, noting her confused look with a grin, then to the roof access door. He opened the door and led her up the stairs, pulling her to a stop at the door to the roof. 

“Cover your eyes.”

“Ian…”

“Just for a second. Your surprise is on the other side of the door.”

She sighed as if terribly put out, but was smiling, and her hands came up to cover her eyes. He waved in front of her to make sure she couldn’t see, and when he was satisfied she couldn’t, he opened the door and led her through. Like lightning, he glanced around to make sure everything was still in place, then pressed the button on his mobile to start the small, hidden stereo playing Ella Fitzgerald.

“Alright. You can open.”

Rose dropped her hands and her jaw dropped, as well. He couldn’t help but feel chuffed at the way she took in romantic terrace and silently vowed to pay the contractors and decorators who’d been working on it for the last few days an extra ten percent. 

“Oh, Ian,” she cooed. “It’s lovely. Has this always been here?”

“Yes and no,” he told her. “The roof has always been here, obviously, but I rarely came up here, so it was virtually empty. My plan was to take you somewhere special for our anniversary, but since you had to work all day, I thought you may appreciate having somewhere special brought to you. I couldn’t let you see it the way it was, so I enlisted Clara to help me get it looking right.”

“Clara?” Rose asked, snapped out of her reverie suddenly. “Doesn’t she hate me?”

Ian chuckled. “No, sweetheart. She doesn’t hate you, she was just surprised that day. She didn’t say so, but I think she saw working on this terrace as a sort of way to make it up to you for how she acted when she met you.”

“She didn’t need to do that.”

“Are you sorry she did?”

She shook her head. “No.” She left his side, still gaping at the terrace. Her hand ran along some of the greenery and she reached out to touch the tulle that had been draped over the gazebo that covered the table set for two. She approached the table, fingers tripping over the champagne chilling in the ice bucket and coming to rest on the domed silver over their food. Ian thought his nerves would riot, so he asked again, “Is it alright?”

“It’s lovely, Ian. You really shouldn’t have, though. You spoil me.”

“I have not yet begun to spoil you,” he smirked, then came over to pull out her chair. “Ready to eat?” Rose took her seat and he stole a quick kiss before he sat down on his side of the table. “I didn’t know what you’d like, so I got you my favorite. Linguini with clam sauce.”

“I’ve never had it,” she admitted. “But it sounds heavenly.”

He uncovered her food with a flourish, delighting in the way her face lit up, then pulled the champagne from the bucket to open it and pour each of them a glass. That done, he raised his flute in a toast. 

“To you, sweetheart. Thank you for the best two months of my life.”

Rose flushed delightfully. “Mine, too,” she said, clinking their glasses together. 

The sun was setting over the city, setting the sky ablaze in shades of orange, yellow, and red. The lighting only served to add to Rose’s glow, in Ian’s opinion, and he spent nearly as much time gazing at her as he did eating. Vintage jazz swirled around them, adding to the romantic mood. Conversation was light and about nothing in particular, and he was terribly pleased with the way things were turning out so far. 

“Why do you live here?” she asked partway through dinner, taking a sip of her wine. 

Ian was a little taken aback by the odd question. “I’m sorry?”

“Why do you live here? In this flat in Notting Hill?”

“Well I have to live fucking _somewhere_ ,” he teased, and Rose snickered. “Why do you ask?”

She shrugged. “Just seems odd, living here when you could own a castle, if you wanted.”

“It’s not my only home,” he admitted. “I have a flat in Glasgow, smaller than this. It’s mostly for when I get homesick. Fergus and Osgood use it when they go to visit. And I had an estate in Kent,” he offered, as if owning an estate in the country was commonplace. “I still do, technically, but I don’t live there. Not anymore.”

“Why not?”

He chewed thoughtfully, weighing his next words. “I wasn’t entirely sure why I left, at the time. I had lots of reasons, of course: I was a bachelor knocking around in a gigantic house by myself, work and nearly all of my contacts were in London, nothing ever fucking happened there - but none of them were compelling enough to get me to leave on their own. I put it off and put it off, but about five years ago, I just felt… I don’t know. It was like there was a force pushing me to move to the city and it wouldn’t take no for a fucking answer. I looked at townhouses and homes in the poshest areas of town, but Fergus had heard about this flat. One of our friends had owned it prior, a musician, so it was already soundproofed - which was important to me. I laughed at him when he told me I should check out this flat in Notting Hill, but as soon as I walked in the door, I knew I was home. That same force or what the fuck ever that had been pushing me to move was guiding me to this place. Three days after I moved in, I met your father when I was exploring the neighborhood.” Rose smiled gently and he reached across the table to take her hand. “I never believed in fate or karma or any of those things before I met you. But now I know things were falling into place, making it so I could meet you that day.”

“And be a total arse,” Rose teased, squeezing his hand.

Ian grinned. “And be a total arse,” he agreed. 

Her eyes were soft and tender. “Do you really think so? You think we were meant to be together all along?”

“Absolutely,” he nodded. “Everything fell into place just the right way so I could be with you. I wouldn’t change a second of my past if it changed the fact that I’m here with you now. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

The song changed and Ian decided he’d waited long enough, he needed to hold her immediately. “Dance with me?” he asked hopefully.

Rose looked a little taken aback. “Now? Here?”

“Here and now, sweetheart.” He laid his napkin beside his plate and got to his feet, Rose’s hand still in his. She smiled gently and put her own napkin down, then stood. As soon as she was on her feet, he led her a little ways from the table and pulled her into his arms, one arm going around her waist to tug her close and the other holding her hand against his chest between them. Billie Holiday sang “It Had To Be You”, her voice slipping and sliding over the notes, weaving a spell around the lovers as they danced. The sky had darkened to indigo and was festooned with stars twinkling merrily. A pale, yellow, crescent moon looked down on them from above, and Ian nuzzled his mouth next to Rose’s ear, inhaling deeply of her scent before he started singing along. They swayed gently, rotating in a slow circle, simply relishing the moment and soaking it up as best they could. 

Ian didn’t let go of her when the song ended, but he pressed a kiss to her ear and Rose sighed. 

“You alright?” he murmured.

“I’m in heaven,” she said dreamily, making him chuckle.

“Me, too.”

They continued to dance through the next song, holding each other in the moonlight with the sounds of the city far below. Ian wasn’t sure of many things in his life, but he was absolutely sure of one thing - meeting Rose Tyler was the best thing that had ever happened to him. 

Etta James finished singing “At Last” and Rose sighed again. “Beautiful song.”

“It is,” Ian agreed. “They don’t write them like that anymore.”

“That reminds me,” she said into his chest, not looking up at him. “I - I have an anniversary gift for you, also.”

“Oh?”

She nodded, still not looking up. “I...um...I’ve been writing. Poetry, I mean. And I...well, I wanted to share that with you. For our anniversary.”

“You do?” he asked, surprised and delighted. He pulled back a little but Rose still didn’t look up, so he hooked a finger under her chin and turned her face up to him. Her cheeks were glowing, even in the low light, and he could see just how big a deal it was for her to be offering herself to him like this. It made him love her all the more. 

“I’m honored, sweetheart. Fucking honored.”

“They’re nothing special. I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.”

“I’m certain I won’t be.”

“What if you don’t see anything in there worth making a song out of?”

“I’d bet anything in this world that won’t be the case.”

He was dying to kiss her, to taste her, so he dipped his head and pressed his lips against hers. She surrendered to him at once, welcoming his slow and gentle invasion. His lips parted over hers, catching her lower lip and nibbling it, then soothing it with his tongue. She opened for him, accepting him, and he let their tongues dance together for just a few moments before he gentled the kiss and broke it, softening the loss for both of them with little kisses to her slightly swollen lips. 

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you, too, handsome.”

He kissed her nose. “Good. You and I, Rose Tyler...we’re going to write beautiful music together. In every possible way.”

She beamed up at him. “I can’t wait.”


End file.
